


Agent Potter and the Imperius Plot

by IndigoSynopsis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Established Relationship, F/M, Harry Potter AU, M/M, Mild Dumbledore Bashing, Minor Character Death, Romance, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Spy Movie Type Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoSynopsis/pseuds/IndigoSynopsis
Summary: Harry and Hermione are Wizard field agents, highly trained in protecting the world from crimes even the government can't handle while keeping everything completely secret. Chaos ensues when they discover that the Parseltongue Syndicate used Wizard technology to create a powerful bioweapon. Can Harry and Hermione save the world while saving themselves in the process?A Secret Agent! Harmony AU
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Others (See chapter notes)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PetrificusSomewhatus is my lovely perfect Beta. Let's go!

“Watch out, there are two on the stairwell and one behind y–

There was the unmistakable sound of a scuffle. Hermione could hear a series of muffled grunts and the sound of fabric scraping against a microphone. Then there was a crack that made her wince before an out-of-breath voice came over the line. 

“No there aren’t.” She rolled her eyes. That Potter. She could hear the grin on his face. 

“How’s the door looking?” Hermione consulted her screen. The camera was blurry, but she could see Harry looking between it and the door. Iron, extremely thick and shut tight. She asked if Harry could hear anything but he shook his head. So instead, they turned their attention to the keypad in front of him. 

“Tell me the–”

“Letters they used, yes.” She watched Harry take out a special light, shining it over the pad while her own hands rested on top of her keyboard. After a glance behind him, he began to read them out. 

“Weasley, mind the cameras for a bit,” Hermione said. The redhead behind her gave a middle finger while slurping some of his soda, but watched them nonetheless. 

“Whiskey,” Harry said, “Romeo, Tango…uh, Oscar.” Hermione’s hands entered the letters as he said them. 

“Alpha, Sierra, Golf, Hotel,” he finished. 

“Hogwarts,” Hermione said. She hadn’t even looked at the computer.

“What? You’re not serious.”

“It can’t be anything else.” 

“What a shit password,” Harry said as he began to type. But before he entered the last two letters Hermione stopped him.

“Hold on, that was too easy–could be a trap. Weasley, can you tap into the cameras on the other side of the door?”

“Mmph–I mean, already done. There are two. One’s armed–hang on, both are. Left has a knife.” The redhead had a sandwich in his mouth now. Hermione swore that if he’d gotten grease on her screens she’d have him on desk duty.

“You hear that Potter?” she said into the mic. 

“Loud and clear.” 

“Alright, you’re a go. I’ll send Weasley in after you’ve cleared the place of snakes.” 

“Granger?” Hermione watched as Harry stretched a bit and looked up at the camera again. 

“Yes?

“If I beat your record I’m on top tonight.”

Hermione smiled. “You won’t, but I might let you anyway.” 

Weasley nearly choked on his drink. 

“Get a room, you two.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“Arriving at 2400 Hours. Open the cauldron,” They were driving down a quiet street in London. It was late enough that the streets were nearly deserted, save a few irresponsible desk workers who spent their evenings hiding from their wives behind a glass of beer. The only sounds after Hermione’s speech were tires on asphalt and the _tap, tap_ of her finger pressing a button twice. This ended the transmission and caused the keyboard to retreat into the glove compartment. She then reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see Harry. 

Agent Harry Potter was sitting in one of the folding chairs, his green eyes turned turquoise by the blue liquid in front of him. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up and flashed her a quick smile. This made the bruise developing on his cheek all the more obvious to Hermione. Even worse, they’d run out of Bruise-B-Gone.  
  
As she watched, Harry’s concentration returned to the vial in his hand. From the moments Hermione had held it, she knew it was warm to the touch and seemed to glow very slightly in the fading light. With the doors of the van closed, the vial’s shimmer was even more pronounced. Judging from the furrow in his brow, Harry did not like it one bit. Hermione couldn’t blame him.

“Hold on!” Ron said suddenly. Hermione’s head whipped around just in time to see a man dive out of the van’s way. Ron swerved, tires skidding before he managed to right them and continue on. Hermione gasped, and looked at the side-view mirror to see if they needed to stop and help him. 

Except there wasn’t any man to see. It was as if avoiding the van caused the figure to disappear entirely into the night. There were enough corners and broken street lamps to allow a person to disappear, but not for her. She should be able to detect movement and there was absolutely none.  
  
_Clatter._

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit,” Harry was pulling one of his gloves on and scooping up the vial to check it for damage. Clearly, the surprise had unbalanced him. The raven-haired man breathed a sigh of relief and quickly placed the vial in its foam nest, closing its case with a snap. 

“What the hell?” he was sitting behind them now, looking at Ron with unmistakable annoyance. 

“Sorry mate,” Ron replied, glancing sheepishly at him, “He came out of nowhere!” 

“Right. Aren’t you Mister _‘I just got clearance to drive two weeks ago_ ’?” 

“I’m serious! Hermione, tell him.” Harry was looking expectantly at her now, and Hermione nodded. 

“Even Ron’s not that bad,” she said, earning a playful ‘hey!’ from their redhead friend, “The man wasn’t there, and then he was...and then he wasn’t.” 

“Damn,” Harry cursed again, leaning back unceremoniously in his chair. He rubbed his temples, and for a while they rode in silence. 

“I thought I got everyone,” he said finally, “You double checked, right?”

“Yes,” Ron and Hermione said in unison.  
  
“It could have been nothing,” Hermione tried, “They could have been a drunkard and I just didn’t catch him slumping in an alley or something.” 

“You don’t just _miss_ things, Granger.” Harry was looking at her again, this time with an intensity that only seemed to be reserved for her. It was the same look he’d given her on their first assignment together. _Don’t you dare doubt yourself, you brilliant woman._ That’s what he had said, and after they’d come home with their target intact he’d shown her just how brilliant he thought she was. 

Hermione shook her head, determined not to get distracted. 

“What do you think, Ron? Go immediately to Director McGonagall or just put it in our written report?” 

“If you think I’m going to put ‘might’ve missed one of the bad guys’ in writing, you’re mental,” he said. Though she rolled her eyes, Hermione had to admit Ron had a point. Director McGonagall would hear them out. Kingsley, however, was not as forgiving. 

At this point, the roads were getting thinner. Ron slowed down, and Harry clambered around the back and shut down all the computers. He flattened them against the van’s frame and latched the pull-down desks on top of them. Beneath the desks were a few crates of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey, which Harry pulled out and braced near the back door. 

“We’re nearly there,” Ron said, “Got the drive, Granger?” Hermione gave him a thumbs up, Indicating a small hard drive slipped in the pocket of her jeans. Harry was rubbing Glamour Powder on the side of his face to dull the appearance of the bruise. He finished just as the van came to a halt beneath a worn, swinging sign. 

The sign read _The Leaky Cauldron_ in fading gold letters, with the silhouette of a cracked cauldron oozing some kind of liquid in the background. Below it hung a much newer sign, which was plastic and read “London’s Top Ten Themed Spots!” in bold print. Because the Leaky Cauldron was indeed London’s most popular themed bar and accompanying hotel. The worn appearance of the sign was done on purpose. In fact, The Cauldron was a booming business on the verge of becoming a chain. Both Locals and Tourists fought to get a spot at the bar’s limited seating and even ordered their drinks to-go. Their hotel rooms were sold out six months in advance. It was always a lively scene, and while it was always tempting to stop and socialize, the three Agents in the van knew this establishment served a far more important purpose. 

“Hermione! We haven’t seen you in ages!” said a loud voice. A startled cat darted out from behind a fire hydrant and skittered into the alley. 

“Hello, Mason,” Hermione said, waving at the blonde man that came out to greet them. He leaned on the windowsill, a lopsided grin on his unshaven face. He didn’t budge when Hermione made a move to open the door.  
  
“I still can’t believe someone like you is working for a Brewery, and on delivery, too!” He was leaning further now, and Hermione responded by leaning back. He completely ignored Ron’s wave and didn’t notice Harry opening the back door of the vehicle.

“Seriously, let me know when you’d like to come work for us. We could always do with another pretty bartender.” 

“And I have told you,” Hermione said, “That I am perfectly fine where I am.” She forcefully opened the door, knocking Mason backward a few paces just as Harry rounded the corner. He was smiling ear to ear and carrying two crates of Firewhiskey in his arms. These he thrust into Mason’s hands. Sensing defeat, the young bartender waddled awkwardly back into the building.

“Bring Tom out, will you?” Harry called after him. It wasn’t long before another man came out the door. To Hermione’s relief, Mason wasn’t with him. She focused her attention on Tom, leaning against the van while Ron stayed in the driver’s seat and Harry ambled around back. They both appeared outwardly relaxed, even tired, but their eyes were darting side to side and their ears seemed to twitch with the strain to listen and watch. 

Tom was much older than Mason and appeared to be something straight out of a fantasy novel. He’d always looked the part but had grown an enthusiastic habit of making himself look more grizzled and warlock-like through the use of makeup. It made Hermione smile. She was a little sad they weren’t able to visit him more. 

“I’ve got a place for you to park out back,” Tom said. 

“How long do you think we should stay?” Hermione asked. She reached up and pretended to wipe a bit of dirt from his face, but in truth, she was trying to tell him to stop glancing every which way. 

“The weather’s fine. You can leave tomorrow.” She heard a loud sigh from Ron and had to hold one in herself. 

“Everything is booked?” 

“Through October, unfortunately.” It was June. Hermione nodded and gave Tom a long, warm hug. Then climbing back into the van with Harry, they drove around the side of the bar to a shabby wooden gate. “Employees Only” it read. After a few moments, the gate was opened and Tom ushered them through, closing it behind them with a snap. 

They were alone again. The spot behind The Leaky Cauldron was utterly devoid of activity. Even the sounds of the bar seemed far away. To their left, there were a few shards of glass, and right in front of them was a brick wall. The buildings on either side had no windows and a network of ledge and pipes made them impossible to be seen from the Inn. If someone did see them, they would think the trio were nuts when Ron stepped on the gas and the Ogden’s Firewhisky Official Delivery Van drove straight at the wall. 

“I can’t believe this place is closing their entrance again _and_ we have to get up and move the van tomorrow,” Hermione said, frustrated. “We’re going to have to drive all the way back to the Brewery and then all the way back _again_ to one of the other entrances. It’ll take hours!” 

“D’you think he might just be paranoid?” Ron asked, “He is getting up there isn’t he?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “I suppose he thinks this place is being watched. With the man you almost hit tonight, Ron, I think it’s a good idea if we keep our cover. We’re just a bunch of twenty-something idiots who deliver beer to pubs. Wouldn’t make sense for this van to just disappear in the staff parking lot. Especially if–” 

“–someone is watching,” Hermione finished Harry’s sentence for him, “Oh! We’re in. There are the Guard Wizards.” 

The brick wall had turned to a strange gelatinous substance as the van made contact, swallowing it up and re-hardening once they were all the way through. Hermione never quite liked going through fake walls. It always made her feel like she would get stuck. 

They were in a garage, but far from alone. As Harry, Ron and Hermione exited the van, a few very large people hurried up to them.

“Wands and chips please,” they said in unison. All three Agents removed a thin black tool from somewhere on their body. Ron’s sat perilously behind his ear, tangled slightly in his red hair. Harry’s was in the lining of his coat, and Hermione’s was tucked into her sports bra. 

“What?” she asked as Harry waggled his eyes, “It’s unlikely that anyone is going to touch me there.” 

“Anyone?” Harry whispered, smirking as the Security Guard placed a scanner next to his mouth. 

“You know what I mean.” They stood still for a second until the scanners placed next to each of their mouths beeped and went green. 

“Welcome Agent Granger, Agent Potter, and Agent Weasley,” said one of the Guards, “You have a debriefing with Director McGonagall in thirty minutes.” Their wands were returned to them, and the Guards set about collecting materials from the van. One took the case containing the vial, one pocketed the keys, and another collected the drive from Hermione’s outstretched hand. 

“I wish we could wait until tomorrow,” Harry said as they left the garage. 

“I suppose McGonagall thinks what we’ve found is too important to wait,” Ron said. He yawned and started to walk ahead. “Let’s hurry. Maybe if we’re there early we can grab some leftover biscuits or nap for a few minutes…” 

Harry and Hermione watched him go but didn’t bother to catch up. Hermione was too busy focusing on the way Harry’s hand had brushed her bushy brown ponytail then snaked around her waist. 

“We are on the _job,_ Harry,” she said, though she didn’t make an effort to move away.

“No one’s around right now, and it’s not as if we’re at the Ministry.” 

“Yeah, but the Creeveys are stationed here. Can you imagine finding pictures of us like this in the common room tomorrow morning? Fancy rude stares over breakfast?” 

“Do you really care that much?”

“Well…” Hermione blushed, looking at the glossy tiled flooring, “Not _really,_ I suppose. But I certainly do at the Ministry. My mum and dad don’t ogle each other in between patients at their office.” 

“You don’t know that,” Harry said, waggling his eyebrows. Hermione swatted him. They kept walking, Hermione glancing at the offices and workshops lining the path on occasion. Most were closed, though she knew they’d each have at least one worker sleeping inside for emergencies. After a while, Harry made a small noise indicating he was thinking about something.

“What?” Hermione asked. That damn Potter smile was back, and he stopped so he could turn Hermione’s body toward him. 

“I really hope McGonagall keeps the meeting short,” he said. 

“Oh, but it’s so important!” Hermione said. 

“That it is, and I promise I will be the most attentive Agent in the meeting. But I still hope it ends before we’re too tired.”

“And why is that, Potter?” 

“Because,” he leaned down, kissing her sweetly before pulling back, though he was still staring at her lips, “I stunned fourteen tonight before getting hit. Last time you got, what, twelve?” 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She already knew where he was going with this. Licking her lips, Hermione slowly brought her brown eyes up to meet his. 

“And?” she asked. 

“And, that means I broke your record.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeeeeell here we go! I really wanted to write a Harmony Spy AU and the Harmony Discord gave us a prompt to do just that! That drabble turned into this. I believe it will be a comfort fic of mine, updated when I can (though never longer than a month, I think). I am mostly writing it for myself, but if others enjoy it that is a major plus! 
> 
> This fic has a basic plan but that could change as my whims do, so I'll add tags and characters as they appear. Expect to see (in minor and major occurrences)  
> \- Draco Malfoy being a stupid coward  
> \- Mild Dumbledore "bashing" but it's more like no one is taking his manipulative shit.  
> \- No Weasley bashing whatsoever but I am definitely poking fun at Ron a little bit  
> \- At least one gay ship  
> -Smut  
> \- Trop-ey espionage
> 
> Let's have fun!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thaaank you to the wonderful HHrPie for the readthrough.   
> Oh! And thank you to those who left kudos/bookmarked so far! Y'all are sweeties <3

“Director, what exactly does it do?” Harry pointed to the vial sitting in its case on Director McGonagall’s desk. When she didn’t answer, Harry looked up, finding her watching him over half moon spectacles. Her hair was pulled up tight in a bun, which rendered her already sharp features even more so as she frowned. 

“You know I can’t tell you that, Potter.” 

“Why on earth not?” he asked, “If I’m going to be headed out to bring down whatever Parseltongue is planning, I need to know. Asking us to work off no information is something  _ he’d _ do.” A sudden darkness flashed in McGonagall’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and Harry felt his annoyance rise. What could she possibly say to explain this? 

“Harry,” Hermione said. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Ron, who was leaning against a filing cabinet, got up and moved to stand on his other side. 

“He’s got a point, Director,” he said, crossing his freckled arms, “We can’t have a plan if we don’t know what the stuff does. I mean, imagine it just explodes on contact, or worse.” McGonagall sighed and rubbed her temple, taking off her glasses with the other hand. Harry figured she had a right to be stressed. He and Ron had peppered her with questions for an hour, and she’d tried her best to answer each one. But there was something else, something she wasn’t telling them...and he’d be damned if he didn’t get it out of her.   
  
But before he could push again, Hermione’s hand gave his shoulder a small squeeze. She stepped forward, took a breath, and smoothed a wrinkle in her shirt. 

“We aren’t going are we, Director?” she asked. Though it sounded more like a statement than a question, McGonagall answered.

“That is correct, Miss Granger. And _ before you say anything _ ,” the older woman held up a hand to stop Harry and Ron from equally enraged outbursts, “I need you to know that I did consider sending you on this mission. Taking down Parseltongue is of particular interest to this organization, and I know you are eager for it.” 

“Why aren’t we going then?” Hermione asked. Her tone was careful, even, but the grip she had on Harry’s shoulder told him she was far from happy with this development. He cleared his throat and shrugged a little bit, but she only loosened up a little. 

“Because you are not ready,” McGonagall sighed as she folded her hands in front of her, “You are certainly the most skilled of the new wave. We called you the Golden Trio for a reason...but this is only your second consecutive year of field clearance. I can’t afford to lose you. That, and I currently need agents who are a little more adept at  _ keeping their cover as brother and sister _ .” She eyed Harry pointedly with this, and despite his annoyance the young man found himself blushing. 

Ron snorted, but McGonagall’s attention snapped to him. She said absolutely nothing, but that single stare and the way Ron shrunk before it told Harry all he needed to know. McGonagall remembered how Ron was supposed to be tailing an escaped terrorist and fell for the charms of her subordinate. It had been Hermione who cleaned up the mess that time. But Harry had to admit...his own record wasn’t exactly clean either. It was his turn to sigh as he felt his tension give way to shoulder-slumping defeat. He was no longer in the mood for whatever he’d promised Hermione in Diagon Alley, and one look at her dejected expression told Harry that she wasn’t either. 

“Do you know who you’re sending instead?” he asked, picking up his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder. 

McGonagall’s lips thinned in a sympathetic smile. Harry snorted, simply turned around and assumed they were dismissed. He could tell Hermione and Ron were following him, and from the scent of mild sweat and perfume he knew Hermione was closer. He wanted to grab her hand, then, to have some comfort as disappointment settled in his stomach. But something told him this was the opposite of what the director wanted to see. 

Harry heard McGonagall say something about seeing them at the main office, then the click of the door as it closed behind them. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Four and a half hours of sleep and two cups of black coffee later, Harry tried to stay awake by blasting music they drove to Ogdens Distillery. They’d made quite a show of thanking Tom at the Leaky Cauldron for his patronage and promising they’d be back soon with another shipment. Then they’d set off, and Harry found himself paying more attention to his thoughts than the road. Hermione coaxed him from the wheel about halfway through the ride, after his partial-attention on the road caused him to miss a second exit. But without driving, Harry had nothing left to occupy him, and he simply leaned against the window with his forehead periodically hitting the glass.

He was even less focused when they dropped off the van and journeyed back into London. Somehow, they made it on and off the underground, then to a bright red phone box just out of sight of passers by. They squeezed into it together, Harry sneezing as he got a noseful of Hermione’s bushy brown hair. He’d have made a joke if he was in a better mood, but right now, he simply moved his head to the right as she picked up the phone and, with some difficulty, held her wand to the receiver. 

“Welcome, Agent Granger, to WIZARD Headquarters.” said a feminine, disembodied voice, “Please brace yourself against the wall, and kindly do not vomit on the floor.” 

“I hate this part,” Ron said. With a small click, they plummeted. 

Anyone watching the phone box would blink and swear they’d just seen three people inside not moments before. It dropped straight through the sidewalk. Harry knew it would be rapidly replaced with another box before anyone truly registered it was missing. Down, down they fell, the wind whistling in Harry’s ears amidst periodic reminders to avoid vomiting and hold on tight. He was finding the task particularly difficult today, what with his lack of sleep and his awful decision to drink black coffee. But just as Harry thought he might lose the battle with his stomach, the box began to slow. It gradually lost speed until it creaked and came to rest on solid ground. 

They pushed out of the box as a group and Harry heard Hermoine start talking again. It was something about  _ unreasonable  _ and  _ valuable field experience,  _ but he nodded without reply. Unreasonable didn’t even begin to cover it. Of all people McGonagall could have sent…

“Harry!” he was brought back to reality just in time to walk right into a group of agents. Each one was sharply dressed with disdainful expressions to match. They looked Harry up and down before moving on in a grumbling unit, the dark-haired Wizard muttering apologies after them.

“Nice, Mate,” said Ron, clapping him on the shoulder. He felt this, but it was Hermione’s soft touch on his other side that broke his fog. She had refrained from touching him all morning, as if understanding he had too much on his mind. But now, though they were smack in the middle of the atrium, her soft fingers on his cheek brought him out of his thoughts. As if he’d pressed play on a television, WIZARD headquarters sprang to life around him. 

Agents spoke into watches and with fingers to their ears, dodging drones shaped like paper airplanes as they zipped back and forth in search of their target. One went right for a man in a tattered black suit, who grabbed the drone and unfolded its little metal wings. There was a very small crowd around a breakfast stand to their right, clamoring to get tea, coffee, and all manner of pastries. The footsteps, the shuffling, and the babbling were ever present in the atrium. But the most memorable part, for Harry, was above him. He made a point to look up every time he came here, and took time now to appreciate the sight as a way to ground himself before they moved on. There, in gold plated Letters, read **Worldwide Intelligence Zone And Reconnaissance Division**. Harry supposed he liked to see the acronym spelled out, because it reminded him that they were part of something important...even if they weren’t actively in the field.   
  
There were various pods lining the walls for other phone boxes and ways one could enter the Ministry (the affectionate, informal name for WIZARD headquarters). As they walked further, the hallway gave way to a massive, round, high-ceilinged room. Glass offices lined the walls here, and electronic notice-boards flashed with important daily news. One showed information about a petty robbery in south London, and another flashed with messages of suspicious terrorist activity in the USA. A third showed information about another country, and each had color-coded wording to indicate the level of threat. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione said. She had reached out to touch him again, this time grabbing his hand.   
  
“Well, obviously you are not,” she continued,” I haven’t seen you this unfocused in quite a while. Perhaps we should have gone home first before coming in...” 

Harry shook his head. “I’d rather be here than not, I think. But let’s wait until we get in, alright? I’ll explain.” They piled into the lift behind a rather smiley agent with curly, dirty-blonde hair. He winked at Hermione, who made a face and moved to stand closer to Harry. 

“Hold it, please!” A hand shot out just before the door closed. In stumbled another agent, wheezing and clutching a massive flowerpot in his arm. 

“Thanks...I thought I’d be late,” he said. He gave Harry a crooked smile.

“Morning Neville,” Harry said. 

“What are you carrying?” Hermione was peering at the flowerpot, which upon closer inspection contained several stems ending in wide, vibrant leaves. 

“Ah, this?” Neville said, smiling down at the plant as the lift began to move, “Dieffenbachia. It’s a type of tropical plant. Don’t know which version though. It’s only mildly toxic, you know. Just a bit of itching unless you eat it, I think.” 

Ron, who was a few centimeters away from touching a leaf, jerked his hand back.

“And what were you planning to do with it, then?” he said. 

“Oh, it’ll be next to my desk.”

“It won’t,” Ron said, “ _ Your _ desk is next to  _ mine.”  _

The lift came to a halt and the disembodied voice announced their arrival at  _ ‘Floor Two: Auror Office of Field Agents.’  _ Everyone including the smiling blonde man got out, though much to Harry’s relief he walked in the other direction. Harry, Hermione, and Ron, now accompanied by Neville and his plant, wove their way through the hustle of morning activity to a little pod of desks. They faced each other in a square, had matching black rolling chairs and a dual monitor (though Hermione’s had a few extra attachments she’d brought from home). The area also featured a larger screen to mirror vital information, and a dry-erase board. The whole office was set up this way, each team with their own set of desks and a tall divider to separate them. At the very end of this room, up a set of winding stairs, sat Director McGonagall’s main office. Harry glanced up at it before taking a seat at his computer. 

“Oh, I can’t imagine the emails I missed while we were out,” Hermione said, “I should’ve looked at them while we were in transit.” 

“You’re telling me,” Ron said. His desk was a catastrophe of papers, which he and Hermione argued over constantly. It was a security risk, she’d said, though Ron shot back that anyone who made it this far into WIZARD headquarters deserved to get some of the information. Harry couldn’t remember much else from the conversation. Only that he quite liked it when Hermione meant business. 

“So.” Harry looked up to find soft brown eyes and that very business-ey expression staring down at him. 

“So?” 

“Why were you so distracted earlier?” 

“Er, Right,” Harry said, sighing as he pushed back from his desk. 

“So McGonagall didn’t tell us who she was sending, right? I suppose that means she hadn’t chosen last night. But when you think about it, there’s only one team she could possibly choose here.” 

“...And who would that be?” Hermione asked, leaning on the edge of his desk, “There are several other teams. They wouldn’t send any of the new blood, so Luna and Ginny are out. Seamus and Dean are undercover in Quebec. But there’s still Moody’s team--they’re terrifying-- and Charlie Weasley’s. Apparently they have a third member now, a transfer from the French branch. Who’s to say that McGonagall picked the Marauders?”

“Actually, that was decided this morning!” Neville piped up, “She said it was because they had the most extensive history with Parsletongue, I think.” Harry leaned sideways to find Neville positioning the plant right between his and Ron’s desk. Ron made a face and scooted away as Harry cast an  _ I told you so _ look to Hermione. 

“Harry, I’m not saying we didn’t have a right to go,” Hermione placated, “But I just think McGonagall is right about our ability to be undercover. I...we need some work.” 

“You don’t know them like I do,” Harry replied, “You should hear the stories I get back at home. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, Reynard...gallivanting across the globe causing absolute havoc--” 

“I like your mum!” Hermione interrupted, “That code-name she picked came from a book series, you know. Or, rather a collection of literature from the Middle Ages. She told me at dinner last month.”

“Did she?”

“Yes, while the rest of you were trying to fry an egg with your pocket lasers.” Harry laughed, but he wouldn’t be deterred from his point.

“What I’m saying is  _ they _ \--my mum and dad--have told me loads of stories. Sirius and Remus filled in the details I technically wasn’t allowed to hear. Each team has a thing, right? How they carry out missions and why they work well together. The Marauders operate by hiding in plain sight. My parents almost always play a couple on missions. Sometimes, Sirius and Remus do, too. Distract the ever loving hell out of the target with charms, smarts, and good looks while the rest of the team does business. It’s always been reckless...like their thing  _ is  _ recklessness itself. It...it’s what almost got them killed!” Harry paused, noting how loud he’d gotten. A couple of heads appeared momentarily over top of the dividers, but disappeared as they got back to work. Ron and Neville were listening intently, too. Harry took off his glasses for a moment, rubbing his eyes before letting out a puff of frustration. 

“Sorry,” he said, “It’s just that, I’m…”

“Worried,” Hermione finished for him. Harry nodded. Hermione came around his desk and reached into his drawer. She grabbed four granola bars and handed him one, throwing the other two to Ron and Neville. After opening hers and taking a bite (and eye-ing Harry until he ate some of his) she moved to sit behind her desk again. For a long while, the only sound coming from the foursome was the _ tap, tap _ of fingers on keyboards and the occasional shuffling of papers. At one point, Hermione received a message drone, which she opened, grimaced at, and sent off with a roll of her eyes. Harry was about to ask her what it was about when she spoke again. 

“You’re not wrong, Harry, they can be...a lot,” Hermione said, “I understand why you’d be worried. But that incident? It was twenty-three years ago. Except for those near-misses Sirius keeps telling me about, and if I’m being honest I think he’s embellishing, they’ve had a spotless record.” 

“That’s true,” Ron chimed in, “Maybe McGonagall and Kingsley feel their team’s got a good thing going and don’t want to mess it up. Like, we work together really well and all, or we wouldn’t be called what we are, but I don’t think we quite have our _ thing, _ you know? Unless you count me being a third wheel while you two--” 

“What are you working on, Neville?” Harry shot daggers at Ron as he interrupted. Though, as Harry thought about it, he had to admit Ron might be right.

“Oh! I’m organizing information to pass on to Agent Pettigrew, actually,” Neville said excitedly, “I’ve just been sent a preliminary toxicology report from the Potionmasters. Forensics is really cool, actually, especially as it relates to biomechanical...what are you doing?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione were suddenly up and crowding around Neville’s computer. The latter tried in vain to cover his screen with his hands.

“You guys, I’m  _ not _ supposed to show you this until it’s been cleared by McGonagall!” he said.

“Oh Neville, you know that rule is more of a guideline!” Ron said.

“Guys, please.”

“Come on, Nev,” Harry said, grinning, “You know Hermione will get into your system later anyway. Might as well save her the trouble.” Neville looked at Hermione with wide, pleading eyes, but she only shrugged and agreed with Harry.

“It’s true.”

“You were so much much better about rules when we were in training,” Neville said, groaning. He threw himself back in his chair and raised his hands in defeat. Harry leaned forward, squinting at the formal typeset. There wasn’t much to go on, but a few lines stood out to him and made his heart squeeze just a bit tighter in his chest. 

“Bloody hell, it’s a bioweapon?” Ron said, “We had a bioweapon in a little vial...in a shitty van.”

“What does it do?” Harry asked, but Neville shrugged. 

“No idea, they haven’t gotten that far yet, see?” he pointed to a line that read ‘trials still underway’, “But I’m told the Marauders want to start work right away, so they’re alright with incomplete information. I just need your reports and I can pass this on.” 

“I think that’s a sign we should get back to work instead of breathing down his neck,” Hermione said, ushering Harry and Ron from behind Neville’s desk. Though Neville gave her an appreciative grin, Harry knew that Hermione simply saw that they could squeeze no more information out of him for the time being. 

From then until lunch, Harry detailed everything he could about the operation. He already disliked his parents undertaking this mission, and liked their desire to jump the gun without all the facts even less. As such, Harry resolved to give them as much information he could. He worked his way backward from the dark figure they almost hit with the van, to the six...no...seven Parseltongue operatives he knocked out in order to take the vial. 

Hermione, unsurprisingly, completed her report first, and while waiting for Harry to finish began prioritizing Ron’s pile of backed up work. Harry finished just as his vision began to blur and his desire to look anywhere  _ but  _ at a computer screen got the best of him. As soon as he was done, Harry sent it off to Director McGonagall and Neville, finding an error just as he closed the document but hoping the latter parties wouldn’t notice. He then tugged Hermione’s jacket sleeve to inform her it was time for lunch. 

“Wait up,” Ron said as they were leaving, making a move to stand up. But Hermione stopped him.

“You’re kidding, right?” she pointed to the pile of work beside him (which Harry noticed now had color-coded sticky notes based on priority) and shook her head, “I’m not getting an earful from McGonagall because  _ you  _ couldn’t be bothered.”

“But the menu says there’s eclairs today…” Ron pleaded. But Hermione was already speeding toward the lift with Harry in tow, and didn’t hear any more of the redhead’s complaints. 

“We’ll bring you some back!” Hermione called over her shoulder. As she and Harry reached the elevator, the doors opened and a drone shot out. It nearly clipped Harry’s cheek, but he ducked just in time.The little whirring contraption doubled back as Harry and Hermione got in, hovering inches away from Hermione’s ear. 

“Are you going to answer that?” Harry asked. 

“I would rather not,” she replied. The drone was now bumping against her cheek.   
  
“What if it’s important?” Hermione shot him a sideways glance and grabbed the drone, opening it and pointing the holographic display toward Harry. He leaned forward, trying not to laugh as the words came into focus.

_ Agent H. Granger,  _

_ Kindly report to WGB so that we may update your wands and provide you with a sexy little number we like to call the 36D. This is your second notice. Please visit soon or we will be forced to bring it to your desk. _

_ Forever yours, _

_ Loki and Lugh _

  
  


“Sounds like we should, er, probably go,” Harry said, trying and failing to mask a snort as a cough, “I don’t don’t know what 36D is but it sounds like you won’t want it revealed in front of the whole Auror department.” He wondered if they were allowed to say the word ‘sexy’ on official inter-departmental messages, not that  _ those two  _ had ever cared for the rules. 

“Oh, fine,” Hermione said. She hastily punched something in on the screen and shut the drone just as the elevator doors opened on  _ ‘Level Four: Cafeteria, Recreation, and Training Facilities’,  _ “We can go on our way out...and please come with me, Harry. I don’t have the energy for them today.” 

Placing a palm on the small of her back, Harry led Hermione out of the elevator with the promise he wouldn’t make her deal with the twins alone. He would, however, weasel his way out of telling Ron that eclairs were on the menu for  _ tomorrow _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I updated before a whole month passed!
> 
> This chapter was more of a 'getting to know the world' chapter, and next chapter might be too. We get to meet the (not so) mysterious Loki and Lugh, and maybe Harry will loosen up a bit? Hermione will help, I'm sure. ;]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PetrificusSomewhatus saved my entire ass with his ability to critique me kindly but firmly. Can't thank him enough.

“WEASLEY!” a voice bellowed. Harry jumped backward just in time as two flashes of orange hair whizzed past. 

“You might want to wait at their workstation,” said another voice, “could be a while.” Harry and Hermione turned to see a lean, warm looking man beckoning them. His mid-length dreadlocks were held back in a ponytail and his shirt had a very suspicious looking smudge on the left side. Nonetheless, they walked over to him. 

“When did your hair get so long, Lee?” Hermione asked as Harry looked around. The Department of Weapons, Gadgets, and Ballistics was always in full chaos mode, and today was no different. A Wizard Agent kicked his own invention out of the way to make room for what Harry knew must be _Loki_ and _Lugh_ , or, as most at WIZARD knew them, Agents Fred and George Weasley. 

“Been this long for years. You don’t come down here often, do you?” Jordan waggled his brows as Hermione gave a small smirk. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the chaos as if to give him an answer. 

“STOP!” The person running behind them was an agent Harry recognized as Angelina Johnson, “TESTING. YOUR. STUPID. INVENTIONS. ON. TRAINEES.” She was pelting them with little bits of candy in brightly colored wrappers as they fled, but quickly ran out and it became clear that she couldn’t possibly catch up. Instead, Agent Johnson skidded to a stop, boots squeaking on the hard flooring, and wheezed as she leaned on one of the metal workstations.

“If it happens again...I _swear,_ ” she said, raising a shaking fist. 

“It won’t!” said one of the redheads. 

“It will,” said the other. 

Agent Johnson threw up her hands, flipped her long braids over her shoulder, and stalked toward the lift. She did all this while grumbling something no one else could hear. The WGB department paused collectively to watch her go before returning to their projects with vigor. 

Harry stifled a snort as Fred and George finally made their way to the workstation, sweaty and covered in little red marks that stood out on their already freckled faces. George hopped over the workstation to stand next to Lee, while Fred wheeled to the table’s right side, stopping just before his chair hit the metal. Fred then grabbed the edge of the worktable and shakily stood up, taking the bracers that Agent Jordan held out. 

“What was that about?” Hermione asked as Harry accepted a greeting handshake from George, “What did you do to the poor trainees?” 

“Ah, well,” George picked one of the bright candies off his shirt, holding it up so they could see. It was orange on one side and purple on the other, “This is something we like to call a Puking Pastille. Very useful tool, you see. Imagine you need a distraction while Harry here nicks a file or something. Pop the orange end in your mouth and you’ll vomit as soon as it hits your stomach.”

“And the purple end stops the vomiting. We’ve just got to recalibrate them a bit, I think. The trouble is you can’t stop vomiting long enough to take the purple pill,” Fred said. He had finished strapping the bracers on his legs. He pushed a button on the side of them, andwith a small _whirr_ they locked firmly into place, allowing for him to stand up straight with minimal help. 

Harry opened his mouth, aiming to ask Fred about his latest upgrades, but Hermione was already off, scolding them for using Agents-In-Training to calibrate the effectiveness of their candies. 

“But we’ve paid them!” George said, “Each patented Weasley snackbox tester was fairly compensated for any and all medical expenses.”

“Oh, and that makes it better?” she shot back, “I bet they’ve been using these stupid snackboxes to skive off Angelina’s lectures.” Fred and George looked at each other, their faces splitting into matching grins.

“Perhaps that’s what we should call them, then. Skiving Snackboxes. Thanks for the inspiration, Agent Granger!” Hermione looked like she was going to say more, but Harry quickly stopped this by handing his Wand over to George for inspection. He looked over to Hermione, whose narrowed eyes told him she was not at all happy about being interrupted, and that they would _continue this later_. Still, she slid her Wand from her pocket and placed it in Fred’s outstretched palm as Agent Jordan excused himself, saying he needed to be elsewhere. 

The next few minutes passed quietly, with bits of short (albeit slightly tense) conversation as the twins checked over and upgraded each Wand to the latest software. George fixed the faulty taser in Harry’s which had nearly gone off on its own last mission. Fred replaced Hermione’s stunning needle while chatting her up about all the upgrades to his wheelchair. 

“I’m tired of having to look up at this idiot, so I rigged it to hover,” he said, pointing at George. Hermione laughed in spite of her earlier scolding, a genuine smile lighting up her face. Harry, however, felt a pang of guilt. From where he was standing, he could see not only Fred’s chair, but George’s blinking prosthetic ear. 

“Are you done brooding yet?” George asked. Harry shook his head, noting the stocky redhead was now leaning over the table and staring at him. 

“How many times do we have to tell you?” Fred said, “it wasn’t your fault. Imagine thinking a bunch of teenagers could fend off an entire group of Parseltongue. Man, Dumbledore really was a—” 

“Careful, Fred,” Hermione said dangerously. Harry saw Hermione’s head snap in Fred’s direction, a wide-eyed stare on her face, and silently thanked her. If he were a cat, just hearing that name would’ve caused all the fur on his back to stand on end and teeth to bare in anger. Perhaps it was only _partially_ Harry’s fault that Fred lost his ability to walk and George was missing an ear. But it was still his fault. 

Fred seemed to get the message, as he hurriedly gave Harry and Hermione’s wands back and talked them through a short list of new gadgets now at their disposal. 

“Ah, but that’s not why you’re here, is it?” George said, waggling his eyebrows. “I heard you two and our dear brother are off assignments in the field for a little while. Planning to do any training?”

“We’re going to go to the Hogsmeade Complex,” Harry said, “for a few days, I think. Hermione’s going to lose in a contest of aim.” He dodged as Hermione aimed a swat at his shoulder. 

“That’s good then because we have something _perfect_ for you to use. I present to you...the 36D.”

“Catch!” said Fred, throwing something at Hermione. Harry playfully lunged to intercept, but the young woman snatched it out of the air with her left hand and stuck her tongue out at him. As she looked it over, her nose crinkled and her eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’m _not_ wearing this, she said, holding the garment between her index finger and thumb.

Harry peered at the shirt she was holding (if one could even call it that). It was a short, tight crop top with textured straps, and Harry caught a glimpse of a zipper as it swung in Hermione’s hand. He bit his lip. Oh how he _wanted_ her to wear it and, frankly, nothing else, but he had too much respect for her to agree with Fred and George.

“Oh but you must!” said Fred, sidling over and taking the “shirt” back. 

“It’s our newest for feminine bodies,” said George, “Though we’re working out a version for the more masculine frame.” He winked at Harry before gesturing to Fred again.

“Bulletproof vests are just so bulky!” 

“...and thick, like Ron,” George chimed in.

“Right! So we’ve managed to make an ultrathin material that moves with your body and adds an extra layer of protection right over your heart. No stray bullets here.” 

Hermione looked like she was ready to pull the thing over one of their heads, but took a deep breath in and out instead before letting out a defeated huff. 

“This is truly going to protect me?” 

“Fired a Kedavra 9001 at point blank and it barely made a dent.” Fred informed. “It would still hurt though, of course.” 

Hermione seemed to be thinking it over, crossed arms tightening over her chest and one leg bent as she tapped her foot. She chewed her lip the same way she used to while they were at the training academy.

“Oh alright,” she said with a huff, “hand it over.” She grabbed the 36D from Fred’s outstretched hand and stuffed it into her pocket. She looked rather like Agent Johnson had earlier, grumbling under her breath as she turned to leave. Harry gave a quick wave to Fred and George and hurried to follow. He wasn’t going to force her to stick around those two for any longer than absolutely necessary, Harry didn’t think she disliked them nearly as much as she claimed but it never hurt to be cautious

“Come back after your training!” George yelled after them, “We’ll have some more to show you!” 

They pushed into the lift as soon as it arrived, turning to watch the commotion of the WGB disappear as the doors closed behind them. 

“When they come out with a boy’s version of the 36D, you’re wearing it,” Hermione grumbled. 

____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


“Hermione? Are you ready to go yet?” Harry called from the other room. 

“Almost,” she replied, stopping halfway through zipping up the front of her vest to take inventory of herself. 

Hermione made sure to touch every section of holsters and belts holding her collection of gear, namely, dual combat knives and a very small handgun that she only used as a last resort. They were all there, as was the little trinket Harry gave her on their very first mission. It was a good luck charm, he’d said, to keep her safe.  
  
She was just pulling one of the last straps into place as Harry walked into the room, clearing his throat to get her attention. Hermione swallowed at the falsely casual grin he flashed her as he closed the distance between them, placing one hand on each of her hips and leaning down to give her a small peck. Hermione found herself leaning into him, deepening the kiss and placing a hand on his chest, her fingers ghosting over his shirt and moving to rest on his shoulder.Despite the softness of his lips, Hermione felt a tension in Harry’s body not unlike the one she felt when they were taken off the mission. 

“You know,” he said when he finally pulled back, “we _could_ take a later slot on site.” 

“Really?” she looked up at him and rolled her eyes, “I didn’t put all of this on and spend the entire evening studying the new course for you to try and flirt your way out of it.” 

“Is that what you were doing while you were ignoring me? Reading?” Harry asked, taking her zipper in his hand and slowly pulling it upward, “I still think we should wait.” She watched his eyes flick downward for a moment just as the zipper hid the soft curves of her cleavage. 

“Harry, you need this practice,” she said, the tiniest pang of annoyance in her stomach. 

Harry bit his lip, pulling backward and going to lean on one of the nearby bedposts. It creaked loudly under his weight as he shifted, causing him to wince before gesturing for Hermione to continue.

She didn’t, instead raising her eyebrow and giving him a very pointed stare. They maintained steady eye contact for a few moments, the silence broken only by the _drip, drip_ of a leaky faucet in the bathroom. 

“Alright, if I were to hazard a guess, you’re referencing Operation Thunderbird.”  
  
“Right, and?” 

“And...and how I blew your cover.”

“Because…” 

“Alright! Because I thought you were in danger! But could you blame me?” Harry threw up his hands, “Even Ron agreed, Hermione. They had a knife to your neck, blew all kinds of holes in your cover story...you could’ve been killed.” 

Hermione sighed, shoulders slumping as she felt her whole body soften. The brunette walked over and leaned next to him, staring at nothing in particular as she spoke. 

“I don’t blame you, Harry,” she said, her voice soft. One of her hands reached over to rest on top of his, “But I _do_ want you to trust me. Whoever we’re up against today, no matter what it looks like, I want you to stay focused on our goal.” Harry looked over at her and nodded, slowly, deliberately, before the tiniest bit of a smile appeared on his lips. 

“Does that mean I’m going for the hostage, then?” he asked. 

“ _We_ are going for the hostage. You and I are going to approach from opposite directions.” 

"So Ron is finally getting his wish to be in charge?" Harry asked, his eyebrow quirked in surprise.  
  
Hermione grimaced, “In a manner of speaking. I’ve already told him what to do.”

“Bet he loved that.” She snorted, swatting his shoulder as she smiled and picked up her bag. 

“You coming?” Hermione asked as she shouldered the door open and stepped outside, passing beneath a sign that read _Sir Nicholas Cabin_ in fading gold letters. She didn’t wait for him to answer, instead opting to walk along the dirt path toward the training compound while periodically checking her watch for the time. 

It was about a half-mile to the courses, past several bunks named after ghosts that were said to haunt the old training camp. She noticed many of the other bunks were occupied as well, though as per usual the one called Baron was empty. It was a lonely cabin sitting quite a bit away from the others and as a result was always eerily quiet. Hermione had no particular interest in going near it, not that she believed the stories Agents had been making up for years. Still, after they’d entered out of curiosity, only to be met with a questionable maroon stain on the floor, Hermione thought it would be best to avoid it. 

Her thoughts soon turned to the task at hand, but somewhere between ‘incapacitate on sight’ and ‘play the long game’ Hermione sensed Harry approaching. She heard his panting as he ran, and turned to see him kicking up dust and waving enthusiastically at her. He smiled—far more genuine this time—and laced his fingers with hers as they approached the waiting area where Agents milled about. They were clammy and a little cold, but Hermione squeezed and returned his smile with all the faith and love she could muster. 

“Oi! Nice of you two to show up!” Ron said. His red hair stood out in the sea of brown and black, as did his rather tall stature and tendency to yell. He was smiling and waving despite the feigned annoyance in his voice, though Hermione immediately noticed his Kevlar vest was unzipped and bouncing unceremoniously on his torso. 

Hermione let go of Harry’s hand and approached their friend, looking him up and down before taking it upon herself to zip him up. 

“You were supposed to be fully outfitted!” she said, “You know, so we could simulate a real—”

“I’m not putting on the full suit in this weather. Besides, look,” he made a grandiose sweep at the rest of the Agents in the area. Most, if not all, were sporting simple khaki pants and dusty white training tees. As if to prove his point, two Agents Hermione didn’t recognize snorted into their hands as they pointed at the trio. Hermione stared right back. 

“Let them laugh!” she said as she let her bag slide off her shoulders and let it drop onto the gravel, “You remember what our mentors said; the best training is the one that truly simulates something real. You never really know what they’re going to throw at us on these courses.” Ron looked to Harry for assistance, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form an argument. Harry, to Hermione’s utter relief, offered none, and instead clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“It’s about time you learned not to argue with our Hermione,” he said, “She’s usually right.” 

“Har har,” Ron said, “Anyway, you’re not going to like who we’re up against. Check this out.”

Ron turned around and jerked his thumb toward a nearby board, where team match-ups appeared in neat chalk scrawl. Hermione only had to squint at the tiny text for a moment before letting out a groan. 

“McLaggen,” she spat. 

“Er,” Harry said, “speak of the devil...” 

Hermione whipped around, her ponytail narrowly missing the bridge of Harry’s nose. 

Agent Cormac McLaggen leaned on the chain-link fence by the gate, right below the rather large DO NOT TOUCH sign. His blonde hair seemed purposefully tousled and he ran a hand through it as he conversed with his team. To his left were Zacharias Smith and Anthony Goldstein, both equally as blonde with similar smirks on their faces. Smith noticed them looking and elbowed McLaggen in the ribs, who waggled his eyebrows in Hermione’s direction. 

“Aren’t you a bit overdressed for this, Granger?” Smith called, pulling at his own simple white t-shirt, “Hoping to earn extra credit?” 

“I’d be happy to take some of it off for you!” Cormac added. 

Harry’s arm shot out reflexively and pulled Hermione to him, drawing laughs from McLaggen and his band of idiots. Their laughing was so boorish that a couple other groups in the area turned briefly to look at the commotion. 

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, “Let me go. It’s alright.” 

“But they—”

 _“Please._ ” 

Harry released her and Hermione took a couple steps away. She breathed in and out a few times, noting that one of her hands was tensed in a fist and she felt heat rising in her cheeks. From the way Harry was looking at her, she must’ve turned a warm shade of pink as she continued to stare defiantly back at McLaggen. She breathed again. 

“POTTER, R. WEASLEY, GRANGER! MCLAGGEN, GOLDSTIEN, SMITH! STAND BY PLEASE.” The loudspeaker barked and Hermione winced, all of their now annoyance replaced with anticipation. After all, she hadn’t studied this course for nothing. 

“Well at least we know we can’t lose against that lot,” Harry said, taking a half step forward. Hermione sighed audibly and nodded, hoisted her bag on her shoulders once again and approached the gate with the pair. 

“Yeah,” she replied as their shoulders touched, “should be fine.” 

____________________________________________________________________________ 

It was not, in fact, fine. 

Hours later found the trio back in _Sir Nicholas Cabin_ , drenched in sweat with scowls plastered on their faces. Their bags lay in an unceremonious heap near the door and their various weapons were scattered on a nearby table. Harry and Ron looked at each other before flopping down on one of the beds, and the only other real sound for several minutes was the scrape of Hermione’s boots. 

Harry was especially unhappy. He absently counted the support beams on the ceiling, thinking how Zacharias Smith, of all people, had gotten the better of him. He wondered how he could have missed all the signs, and why Hermione had looked at him like that when he’d stopped McLaggen from attacking her. 

Then he shuddered, because truth be told, he _did_ know why.

“So, are we going to debrief that disaster, or what?” Ron asked. Harry turned over as the redhead sat up. He was looking between the two of them, blinking when Hermione stopped and narrowed her eyes.

“By all means, _Agent Weasley,_ ” she said, gesturing at nothing in particular, “debrief us.” 

Another short silence fell as Ron showed all physical signs of regretting his previous actions. 

“Lay off him, love,” Harry sighed, “It wasn’t his fault.” 

“Oh, was it not? I recall trying to communicate and having him talk over me every time I opened my mouth.” 

“That’s funny,” Ron said, getting up and crossing his arms, “I could have sworn you agreed today was my turn to make the calls.”

“That was before,” Hermione said, stalking over and putting a finger to Ron’s chest, “you deviated from the plan!” Harry put his head in his hands & laced his fingers in his hair. The locks were coarse with dust, and some of it fell onto his knees as he shifted. 

“Admittedly, it would’ve been nice to know what direction to go,” Harry cut in, “Half the time I was listening to you two argue instead of locating their base.”

Hermione rounded on him. 

“As if you follow directions,” she snapped. “How you ended up alerting the whole damn forest to my location is a mystery to me.” 

“Was I supposed to be northwest and southeast at the same time? In any case, we’re lucky I _did_ find you or McLaggen would have gotten you before I got him.” 

“Harry, I didn’t need you to ‘rescue’ me,” Hermione said. 

The tenseness in Harry’s chest was back.They’d had this conversation before, many times before. He knew that, and yet he clung stubbornly to the idea that his choices were necessary. Something had to be done. 

He’d known the right way to go. He’d never tell Hermione this, but in that particular situation Ron’s directions were right, so he’d done his best to follow. It was by a stroke of luck that he’d seen McLaggen creeping through the trees, and discovered minutes later he was moving toward what he’d thought was an unsuspecting Hermione. 

Except she’d known McLaggen was coming, and by interrupting her Harry got them both caught. They’d lost to McLaggen. In the field, they’d be dead. 

With a jolt, Harry was up. He shot out of the bed, grabbing a flashlight and his Wand. Ron called out his name as he shot out the screen door. 

“Need air,” he answered over his shoulder, “I’ll be back.” 

He walked without any particular destination in mind, around the cabins where rowdy Agents messed around after a full day of training. He stalked past the training area and into the unmarked woods at the edge of the property. All the while he couldn’t shake the thought that if he’d managed to be just a bit more competent in the field, they would have won...and they _wouldn’t_ have been forced off the mission by the Director.

“Harry.” 

He shook his head, turning around to see Hermione positioned between two drooping weeping willows, one foot perched on the base of one while she leaned on the other. Her bushy hair blew idly in the nighttime wind, and in her hand she was carrying a napkin stuffed with several pieces of buttered toast. She held them out to Harry, who realized his stomach was feeling rather empty. He took one, savoring the (admittedly) generic wheat & butter flavor and pulled Hermione closer with his other hand.

Only after he’d chewed and swallowed two pieces of toast did he realize the sky was growing dark. He wiped his hands on his pants, much to Hermione’s chagrin as she’d been brandishing another napkin at him, and leaned on the tree behind him. 

“You came to find me,” he said, searching Hermione’s brown eyes for some clue as to what she was going to say. She nodded, taking a bite of another piece of toast and chewing thoughtfully before responding. 

“Of course I did, Harry. I think I’m known for finding you more than I am for getting top marks at Hogwarts.” 

“I’m not sure that’s fair to you,” Harry replied, “You may very well be the smartest Agent in our generation but you shouldn’t have to chase after me like this. Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful.” 

His fingers brushed her cheek, cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure she’d be open to such a touch after the events of today. He was immensely grateful to feel her cheek lean into his hand, and looked over to find her eyes closing. 

“If I’m honest, I don’t...want to have the same conversation with you again,” she said, “We are highly competent agents. I can count more times we met our goals than times we didn’t. Even when we got off track. Even when our cover was blown.” She smirked and arched an eyebrow as she said this, and Harry felt the clash of embarrassment and attraction as he watched her. 

“I don’t know what it is, Hermione,” he said, “I know exactly what I need to do, but when I think of you in danger my brain just goes blank.” 

“Not just me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ron, too. Remember Vancouver?” 

“True,” Harry broke a stick off the tree and began twirling it in his hands, “But that was different. I abandoned what I was doing because he called for help. You didn’t.” 

Hermione bobbed her head in partial agreement then turned around so she was leaning on him. Her whole body pressed up against him as she looked up into his eyes, and he blushed, resisting the urge to run his hands up and down her back. She wasn’t wearing her full gear anymore, and the pleasant smell wafting from her was starting to distract him. 

“Well!” Hermione said suddenly, patting his chest and grinning, “You’ll have a chance to fix it tomorrow.” 

Harry was roused from his daydreaming, “What do you mean?”

“I challenged McLaggen to a rematch. Tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I feel like I should be surprised, but I’m very much not,” he said, ignoring the flash of nervousness at his words, “Alright, I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter.” 

“You do not!” Hermione reached up and kissed his lips once before pulling back, “Even if I did get hurt, it’s just training. I promise it’ll work.” 

Harry wanted to say something to the effect of ‘you can’t promise that’, but her determined expression made him relent. Instead, he leaned down and buried his face in the crook of her neck, leaving feather light kisses as his hands started wandering of their own accord. If she cared about his sweaty, desperately in need of a shower scent, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she sighed, one of her own hands caressing the part on his hip where his shirt had hiked up. 

_Snap._

They stopped and with a look at each other, sprang apart. In a second, Harry’s Wand was in front of him with the taser setting on high. Hermione wielded her own Wand in one hand and a shining, serrated knife in the other. They were back to back, scanning the nearby trees for any sign of movement, their steps light on the moist earth. 

_Snap._

“That was disgusting, Potter,” the voice came from Harry’s left, and he saw movement in the trees just out of sight, “Almost vomited.” 

He tapped Hermione’s hip and they turned so both were facing the direction of the sounds. 

“Come out,” she said, her voice hard, “We know you’re alone.” With this statement, Hermione answered Harry’s silent question. 

Her eyesight was leagues better than his despite his glasses and he knew she could easily determine if they were outnumbered. Clearly, she knew the figure was alone. Harry didn’t have to hear anything else to know exactly who it was. How he got into the compound, however, was a mystery to him.

Draco Malfoy stepped out of the trees, his face half-shrouded in darkness. A quick scan told Harry that he was carrying nothing but a silver pistol. Draco's finger was perilously close to the trigger as he took a few casual steps forward. On reflex, Hermione shifted in front of Harry.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t take you out,” she said. Draco’s lazy smile was rapidly morphing into a sneer. The hand on the pistol grew tighter. 

“Because,” he said, his slicked-back silver hair lit by the moonlight filtering through the trees, “I know something about the Marauders' mission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I promise I didn't forget about this story! Life hit me directly in the face and I lost my muse for a bit, but I'm still writing and I'm back now!
> 
> I'm also teaching, so my brain is very crowded at the moment, haha! What do you think happens next?


	4. Chapter 4

Harry froze. Hermione would have chastised him for it, but Harry was very close to making a move toward Malfoy, fully intent on knocking the pistol out of his hand...or breaking his wrist - whichever came first. An intruder at the training facility wasn’t a good sign. An intruder that got in without detection was even worse, and very especially someone who knew the details of his parents’ mission while he did not. 

Of course, he could be bluffing. Hermione already knew Draco was alone, and they had the advantage of two against one. Harry narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to remain stationary as he gripped his Wand tight. 

“How did you get in here?” he asked. If possible, Malfoy’s grin grew wider. 

“That’s none of your business, though I daresay you might want to  _ make  _ it your business. Security’s gotten rather lax around here, wouldn’t you say?” He shrugged and took his hand off his gun, choosing a particularly large tree trunk to lean against as Harry and Hermione gaped at him. 

“You’re kidding,” Hermione said, and he heard her almost laugh, “You’ve got about five seconds to open your mouth or we’re taking you in.” She took a step forward, raising her knife so it glinted in a single sliver of moonlight. 

“I think we have more time than that,” Malfoy said. “You see, you’re not going to do anything to me.”

“Why the hell not?” 

“Well...” Malfoy began as he slowly reached into his other pocket, keeping his eyes on Harry and Hermione as he did. He pulled out a small remote with a safety switch and a button, showing the engraved text to Harry. 

_ Incendio _ .

“And that’s supposed to mean…”

“Fire,” Hermione supplied, “He’s more than likely got one of the cabins rigged to explode.” 

Harry looked at her in alarm. He knew what incendio meant, but Hermione’s assumption made his stomach drop. Most everyone would be in their cabins right now. He and Hermione weren’t supposed to be this deep in the woods at this time of night. 

“And of course Granger’s here to do all of Harry Potter’s thinking for him.” Malfoy casually clicked the safety switch on the remote and the button began to pulsate with a disarmingly soft red glow, “I can’t quite remember what the cabins are called since I left the Academy. This one is hooked up to  _ Saint Nick _ , I think?”

Harry’s nervousness grew tenfold, as did his rage. Ron could very easily be picking off the last meat pies at the canteen, or he could be waiting for them in Sir Nicholas Cabin _.  _ Try as he might to think of a way past Malfoy’s threat, Harry had to admit he just couldn’t be sure. 

“Don’t you dare,” Harry said. 

“I won’t, if you let me say what I need to say and then let me go. This,” he gave a careless wave of the device, “is just a precaution.” 

Harry’s mind raced a mile a minute, calculating every possible way this could go. One glance toward Hermione told him she was having a similar internal struggle. The hand she clasped her weapon in was shaking ever so slightly, and the expression on her face told Harry she was weighing the odds. On the one hand, she was probably fast enough to get the remote from Malfoy’s outstretched hand. However, and despite how low the chance was, she was simply not willing to risk Ron’s safety. 

“You thought you scored a real victory at that warehouse,” Malfoy continued, looking Harry in the eye, “stole the vial and everything, beat up a few of my men...bet you loved that.” 

Harry stared right back, lips thin and eyes wide. Malfoy’s expression was the near opposite. He seemed nonchalant, un-rushed, as if the droves of people Harry took down meant nothing to him, “But all you did was further our goals.”

“...and what would those be?” Hermione asked. Her eyes flicked between Malfoy’s sallow face and his thumb, which was now resting daintily on the button. He shrugged in response, waiting a good long while before responding. When he did, he was looking at Hermione, that unsettling grin back on his face. 

“Now that I don’t know...not yet. But Father entrusted me with getting that vial behind Agent doors. He’s been putting a lot of trust in me lately. Had me set up a trap and plant the evidence. I pretty much led you right to me.” 

“So you’re saying he used your incompetence to his advantage.” If Harry hadn’t been so angry, he might’ve laughed at Hermione’s well placed jab. 

“Are you going to be promoted to ‘getting arrested’ soon?” 

“Watch it, Granger.” Malfoy pressed ever so slightly on the button, a sneer forming as his next words came out in a stream. “ _ I _ led you to me. _ I  _ placed the vial where you could find it. _ I _ set the password. It was all so the ' dream team'  would come to my location and try to play hero. As I understand it, though, your skills have taken a turn for the worse.”

“No worse than endangering lives at the Academy,” Hermione said, “How many Agents could you have killed? You were lucky Harry was there to save your sorry arse.”

“I said  _ watch it _ , Granger.”

“It was all to prove you were some sort of...whatever this is. And worse, you’re working for your vile, cruel—” 

“Stop!” Malfoy raised the remote as high as he could so it was level with Hermione’s face. She stared right back, expressionless, nearly robotic, and continued to talk as if she were stating facts from a textbook.

“You’re here on some sort of infiltration mission, but as far as I can tell, you haven’t stolen anything. This leads me to believe you aren’t actually here for a specific purpose. What is it, then? To ferret around and test our boundaries? Prove we aren’t as impenetrable as people think? That’s a  _ huge _ risk you’re taking, Malfoy. I hope your father doesn’t think you’re that expendable.” 

All at once, Harry understood what Hermione was doing. While she couldn’t possibly have deduced whether or not Malfoy actually stole something, it was enough to make projections. Malfoy fully faced her now, and his cheeks reddened with his growing anger. Harry had long since lowered his Wand and made a move to slide it back into his pocket. 

“Come on...come on…” Harry said under his breath. Hermione had granted him the gift of time, but his movements _ had _ to be subtle. As unfocused as Malfoy was, Harry knew the slightest  _ whirr  _ or  _ click  _ would set him off. 

“That brings me,” Malfoy said, “to the Marauders. We know about their mission...where they’re going, and who they’re looking for.”

“Why are you telling us this?”

“Because I want you to watch when it all goes wrong.” If Harry hadn’t pressed the emergency button on his wand a mere millisecond before Malfoy said those words, he would have fumbled and dropped it into the dirt. They had mere minutes before someone arrived to apprehend the man, whose expression of nonchalance nearly drove Harry to punch him in his thin jaw. 

“Let’s see...I know that they’re doing reconnaissance, perhaps retrieval, to find my father and the plans Parseltongue is finalizing,” he said, tilting his head to the side as if he were thinking. “I also know they are walking right into a trap, and I know that me telling you this will have no bearing on whether or not they’ll get caught. It’s funny, really. I think I like knowing more than W.I.Z.A.R.D Agents. Especially you two.” 

“Only, you’ve just given us all the information you have,” Hermione said. She inched closer to Malfoy in minuscule increments, her eyes still trained on him and the remote in his hand. If she could just get within safe striking distance, Harry could attack from the left, enabling Hermione to grab the remote without accidentally activating the trap. 

“I’m telling you,” Malfoy said, “it doesn’t matter. Tell them whatever you’d like!” He shrugged. He looked like he was about to say more, but paused, cocked his head to the side and started to listen. Harry followed suit. With a pang, Harry realized that the rustling in the woods was not simply the wind making its way through the trees, but the sound of quiet, nearly inaudible footsteps approaching from either side. 

“That’s my cue to leave,” Malfoy said as he began to back up, “It’s been nice seeing you two again, but I’ve no interest in an extended stay in one of the W.I.Z.A.R.D. prisons.” Malfoy looked back at Hermione with a grin, then without warning, tossed it high in the air. 

“Shit!” Hermione said, springing into action. In seconds she’d jumped, pushed off an exposed root, and leapt upwards, snagging the remote in midair. Harry watched her do it, and in the next second lunged at Malfoy himself. He gripped Malfoy by the wrist, flipping him around and twisting his arm behind his back. 

Anticipating the move, Malfoy had dropped something from his pocket. He stamped on it the moment Harry pushed him against the tree trunk, punctuating the air with a small  _ pop  _ and  _ hiss _ . 

The forest was there one second and gone the next, a cloud of black smoke billowing from beneath Malfoy’s shoe. 

“What the..no!” Harry said, staggering as Malfoy twisted out of his grip and disappeared into the fast-thickening cloud of smoke, holding his hand over his mouth. 

“Going to pursue!” Harry shouted as he tried to run after him, but took three steps and ran headfirst into a tree, dropping his Wand somewhere in the dirt. Malfoy’s footsteps were getting further and further away, and for the life of him Harry couldn’t figure out which direction they were headed, with his vision rapidly succumbing to the smoke. His eyes tingled at the edges, and breathing grew more difficult with each passing moment. 

“Shit!” Harry said, sputtering and squinting, “Is that…”

“Instant Darkness Powder. Close your eyes.” Hermione was somewhere nearby, wheezing as she tried to find her way out of the smoke, “How...did he get his hands on that?” 

“I don’t know.” The sounds of crashing footsteps told him whoever they’d called were now nearby. Voices broke the night, and Harry found himself doused in a cool, sour-smelling mist that near-instantly caused the stinging to fade. He blinked, seeing the vague shapes of people wearing protective masks nearby, and more milling about a good distance from them. 

“Potter! Granger! Are you alright?” A new person was patting him down as a cloth was dabbed unceremoniously on his face, alternating with a more cooling mist. His glasses were removed and replaced, feeling cleaner than before. His Wand was thrust back into his hand. 

Through the various beams of light flickering from flashlights and headlamps, Harry could see Hermione. She was emphatic, gesturing at someone with her eyes still shut tight, as two Agents alternated spraying her and dabbing her face with a towel. She held out the remote, now covered in a black film, to a brown-haired man. He took it gingerly in a gloved hand and skittered off toward the cabins, beckoning for two other agents to follow. 

“Are you alright?” Harry made his way over to her, all while trying to maneuver his way through the group of agents checking every last part of his body. He looked her up and down, noting that one of her eyes was still a little red and watering, and her once clean clothes were now covered in grey dust. 

“Fine, though a little disoriented.” Harry leaned around the agent checking his temperature to give her a hug, but she put a hand up to stop him.

“After we shower,” she said, “I don’t want either of us to get another mouthful of powder”

“Fair point,” Harry replied. He stood up and refocused, “Are they sending the explosives team to camp?” 

“They said they think the explosive threat was likely a fake,” she said, “But Agent Davies is still going to check.”

“I hope they...”

“Check all the cabins, of course. I told them,” Hermione said. Her breath seemed to be coming back to her now, “Malfoy may be a complete arse, but there’s no point in taking any chances. They’re going to do a sweep of the whole facility, I think.” 

Harry nodded. He thought for a moment, trying to piece together exactly why and how Malfoy had been here in the first place. His mind drifted to Hogwarts Training Academy, where Malfoy had been in their year. No one, very especially Harry’s parents, were happy to see him admitted. It wasn’t until their fifth year, however, that Harry realized just how right his parents were. 

He winced at the memory, remembering that drafty old cabinet. He remembered how people who were supposed to be locked away came creeping out of it. He remembered the alarms, the rubble, George clutching his ear with one hand and trying to pull rocks off Fred with the other...all because Malfoy slacked off on his duties to prove his worth somewhere else. His recklessness had allowed the Academy to be infiltrated and for his fellow agents to be hurt. And now he'd come to Hogsmeade facility too, succeeded in whatever he'd come to do, and was gone.   
  
“Malfoy...gone... Oh shit,” Harry cursed as he came back to reality. His head whipped around as he looked at the people still fussing over him while others combed the area, scooping black-coated leaves into evidence bags. One agent picked up a small rat, who seemed to have gotten caught in the scuffle. It, too, was placed in an evidence bag. 

“Did anybody go after Malfoy?” Harry projected over the group. A couple of them looked at one another and shook their heads. 

“Agent Potter, you and Agent Granger need to shower and those clothes need to be decontaminated,” said a tall, rather handsome agent as he tried to edge Harry in the direction of camp. Harry tugged himself out of his grip. 

“I’m going nowhere until I know he’s being pursued, Diggory, and I want to know if R ** _—_** the cabins are alright.” he said. 

“We believe Malfoy went north.” Agent Diggory replied without missing a beat, “We’ve sent Agent Tadashi after him.” 

“Alone?” 

“He prefers to work that way, apparently.” Harry vaguely remembered Tadashi from Hermione’s tales of working late. He was there with her frequently, though the only words he’d ever said to her were “I can sleep when I’m dead,” a sentiment Hermione echoed until Harry started forcing her to leave with him. 

“If Tadashi can’t find him,” Agent Diggory continued, “it means he’s completely evaded our grasp. _ Trust me, _ Potter.” He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed, noticing his unwillingness to move. 

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said beside him, “we can’t do anything in this state, and I want to check on Ron.” 

He paused, thinking of a million questions he could ask or things the other agents should check. Ultimately, however, he knew Hermione was right. With one last look at the edge of the compound, Harry reluctantly allowed himself to be led toward camp. 

***

“So Malfoy had some of Fred and George’s Instant Darkness Powder?” Ron asked. He tossed a small ball in Harry’s direction. The dark-haired agent caught it in one hand, letting his bodyweight spin him around once before he lobbed it back at his friend. 

“Right. Well, something like it,” Harry said, “I thought their stuff was stronger. I think Malfoy’s was...diluted somehow. Maybe he didn’t have the additives from Peru.” Ron thought about this for a moment, tossing the ball between each hand before throwing it back to Harry. 

“Look,” Ron continued, “I know everything’s been checked and all, but I’m not sure I’ll get any sleep tonight.” 

It had been hours before Harry, or anyone else in the compound, was able to return to their cabins, let alone have a proper shower. Hermione had been right. The explosives team swept the entire property for weapons beneath harsh fluorescent lights. Eventually Agent Diggory came back with a report. 

“A service door was left ajar,” he said, “and the barest footprints led to a road, but there was nothing to follow beyond that point. That, and the guards at all the major exits to the compound indicated nothing unusual. Everyone coming and going had authorization.” 

Harry and Hermione sat through interviews and finally debriefed McGonagall, who was silent throughout their call aside from a few murmured noises of acknowledgement. She’d ended the call with a simple request to come to her office sometime in the next few days. 

After they’d showered and eaten, they were told to stay in the courtyard with no more wandering to the outskirts of the compound. Hermione, lines appearing on her forehead as she thought, had pulled up a map of the compound and sat squarely on a bench. She glanced up every once in a while at Harry and Ron as they continued their familiar ritual, desperately needing to release their built up adrenaline. 

“How d’you reckon he got it?” Ron said after a while. He threw the ball further this time, forcing Harry to run to catch it before it hit the ground, “The powder, I mean. The tablets aren’t just lying around for anyone to take. Hey!” Harry had thrown the ball a little harder than he’d meant to. It sailed past Ron and bounced up to Hermione. 

“That’s what I’m concerned about, actually,” Hermione said, putting her foot over the ball so it wouldn't roll away, “I think there’s a reason McGonagall didn’t want to speak to us tonight. She might feel it’s not safe to talk.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course, Ronald,” she sounded almost exasperated, “You don’t think it’s a bit odd? Malfoy shows up out of nowhere. We haven’t seen him in what, four years? Then escapes without getting caught. And what’s worse, no one is telling us  _ anything _ .” 

Now that Harry thought about it, he realized that Hermione was right. And it wasn’t just McGonagall who seemed tight-lipped. Everyone they’d talked to asked their questions, said thank you, and left. More guards lined the perimeter, the metal on their uniforms glinting in the moonlight, but no one had given any explanation of what happened. Everyone else knew there had been a threat, but no more. 

“I especially don’t like“what he said about the Marauders, Harry.” He gulped, feeling his chest beat a little harder. Hermione’s eyes widened as she realized what her offhand comment had done, and scooped up the ball, throwing it off to Harry’s right side. He caught it without looking and lobbed it back to his red-haired friend. 

“By the way, Harry, why do you like to toss such a small ball? You ask every time we play,” Ron asked, turning it over in his hand. Harry shook his head and looked up. 

“Reflexes,” Harry said, “Mine could have been faster tonight.” 

“They were fine,” Hermione said, “You couldn’t have known he stole WIZARD tech. Your parents would be proud of what you did, I think.” 

“But they’re still in danger.” Harry’s face darkened again, and he turned away. Across the field, another group of agents who clearly weren’t able to sleep, gathered beneath a lamppost. They seemed to be playing a card game. Nearby, McLaggen, Smith, and Goldstein leaned against a wall, talking seriously about something. 

“You don’t think one of them could have…” Ron started, following Harry’s gaze. 

“No,” he replied, holding out his hands so Ron could aim the ball again, “They may be completely insufferable, but they’re loyal to WIZARD.” 

Ron shrugged, “Fair, but I still find them suspicious. Like Snape. What I wouldn’t give to see him replaced.” Ron yawned, and tossed the ball one last time. He stretched, then plopped down beside Hermione, leaning over to see what she was doing. She gave him a look in response that caused him to scoot to the other end of the bench, hands held up in exaggerated surrender. When Harry didn’t join them, however, both Ron and Hermione flashed him quizzical looks. 

“I think I still need to move a bit,” Harry said, “and make a quick call.” When Hermione opened her mouth to speak, he added “don’t worry, not the forest this time.” He flashed a reassuring smile, which seemed to satisfy her, then waved at Ron before turning away. 

As he jogged toward the cabin, Harry heard Ron begging Hermione to look at whatever she was working on, and her semi-annoyed responses before they both dissolved into much-needed laughter. He couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head as he slipped his secure phone from his pocket and dialed. 

“Harry!” Senior Agent Lily Potter’s voice flowed over Harry like a warm blanket. He leaned against the outside of  _ Sir Nicholas Cabin _ , watching as Hermione and Ron continued to converse. 

“Mum, I have to tell you something,” Harry said after a moment, “I think it’s best if you call McGonagall and cancel this mission.” 

“Sweetheart.” 

“I got a tip today!” he continued, the words tumbling from his mouth, “You all are heading into a trap!”

“Harry.”

“I can’t tell you how I know now but....”

“Harry!” 

“What?”

“Director McGonagall already called us.” Harry blinked in surprise, then came a sigh of relief. 

“So you’re not going, then.” 

“That is not what I said,” his mother replied, then laughed, her voice echoing a bit, “She gave us the orders to return to headquarters. Told us all about the break in and went on and on about how dangerous a situation we were walking into. Thankfully, we changed her mind.” Harry felt his relief very quickly turn to dread.

“Mum, that is  _ not _ a good idea.”

“That’s the same thing she said. It took us two hours to convince her otherwise. But Harry, I  _ trust _ them...I trust my team. Our team knows better than to move blindly into a dangerous situation. Knowing we’re walking into a trap is actually an advantage for us. In fact, your father is working on a plan at this exact moment.”

“If you’re absolutely sure,” Harry said, still feeling rather unconvinced. 

“We will be alright, I promise,” she said, “Now. What else is on your mind?” 

“If you’re still on the mission you must not have a lot of time. We can talk later.” 

“No, no! We have a bit of time. Your uncles are setting up the next stage of the operation.”   
  
“Who’s calling on the secure line?” Harry heard a bit of shuffling in the background as someone moved close to the phone. As the person got closer, Harry recognized the voice of his father. 

“We aren’t being called in again are we?” 

“No, Prongs. It’s Harry. He needs something. But you should be working on your project over there. Time’s ticking.” 

“But it’s my son! Let me talk to him, dear. Please? Oh, alright,” his father seemed to relent, but called out again one more time, “Hope you’re enjoying some time off, Harry! You’ll be ready to go again soon, I’m sure.” 

His mother laughed, and Harry listened to another minute of movement in the background. The exaggerated echoes and reverberations on the other end of the line caught Harry's ear. Where were they? A tunnel? Perhaps underground. Harry knew better than to ask them for their exact location. It was already a risk talking to them on the phone. 

“Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot are all waving and gesturing frantically,” Lily said finally, “They want you to tell Hermione hello from them, and want  _ you  _ to know that they aren’t going to get on you too much for being taken off the mission.” 

“You know about that, then.”

“Call it Mother’s intuition!” she replied, “In reality, McGonagall told us, probably a bit more than she should have. Harry, none of us are disappointed, but I must _insist_ you use your head before rushing into things on your next assignment.” 

“But,” Harry started, trying to keep his voice level, “I take after you and Dad! You rushed off on this mission without so much as a day’s worth of planning. And what about the Riddle Operation?” 

“That was nearly twenty-two years ago, Harry,” said Lily, a softer tone in her voice, “We moved quickly this time because we don’t have much of a choice. Hermione’s told me of your concerns, though.  _ Yes, _ we talk about you.” She emphasized this last part as if she could sense Harry opening his mouth to protest. 

“Let me tell you a story,” Lily continued. She grunted as if she’d sat down on something hard, then took in a breath. 

“I’m sure you remember the tattoos, yes?” 

Harry nodded, there was a silence, then made a small  _ mhm  _ sound once he remembered she couldn’t see him. He glanced around sheepishly, grateful no one was looking in his direction. 

“What exactly do you remember about them?”

“Only the obvious,” he replied, tucking the ball he’d been using into his pocket, “You have no idea about all the rumors floating around about those coordinates. The Creevey Brothers are convinced you foiled an assassination attempt on the American President there. They never shut up about it.” 

There was silence for a moment, then his mother’s melodious laugh returned. 

"That's not what they are for and I can neither confirm or deny that rumor...but if it were true it would have been the British Prime Minister...if it were true...which I can neither confirm or deny." 

“Mum.” 

“I’m sorry. The truth is....the Creeveys aren’t that far off. At least, not in sentiment. I should have told you this years ago, but it’s better late than never.”

“Are you sure you have time for this?”

“If you listen closely, there is time.” Her voice took on a sudden seriousness, so much so that Harry’s attempt to dissuade her died in his throat. 

“We were your age,” she said, “Younger, even. Graduated at the very top of our year under Headmaster Dumbledore. Your father was our leader, or so he thought.” Harry snorted as she continued. 

“Padfoot and Moony were the ones on the ground. They were our shining stars, and boy, did they perform. You should have seen the time in Milan they masqueraded as a newlywed couple. Your father had extra time to retrieve our package.”

“And pick up some gelato as well!” Harry heard his father pipe up in the background. 

“...and catch the eye of several women,” added Sirius. 

“...which he ignored, because no one was good enough for him but our lovely Lily,” said Remus. 

“Then,“ Lily continued, “there was Wormtail. He was our behind the scenes informant. He was also the one to get us access to just about anywhere and anything in the world. Then there was me. I did a bit of everything, I think. I still do. But I am most comfortable with the details. You see, Harry, we are a seamless team. We’ve never failed a mission. Never.”

“But…”

“But on our second mission, the boys came up with an idea. Every time we successfully completed a mission, we would get a tattoo with the exact coordinates of its completion. Two lines. Latitude and Longitude.” Harry remembered the numbers he’d seen on his parents since he was old enough to read. 

51.5320° N

0.1233° W

He’d ask Hermione where that was later. She probably already knew. 

“But isn’t that unsafe? Harry thought about his parents showing up to a tattoo parlor and asking for location-specific tattoos. Someone outside the agency could be suspicious, and it would be an easy way to identify them.

“It was, and even more so how we went about it. Your father and Padfoot did the tattoos. They thought it would be a bonding experience for all of us.”

“Was it?”

“In a manner of speaking. We did it for every single mission we successfully completed, no matter what it was, no matter what chaos we left in our wake. There was always another identity. There was always another polyjuice mask to wear. There were always ways to hide.” 

Harry looked down at his feet, kicking dirt with his steel-toe boots and hating everything about where this was going. 

“After that first mission, I realized that I neither liked the concept of the tattoos nor the idea of voluntarily putting needles into my skin,” his mother continued, “but I allowed the rest of them to continue. As time went on, we got more reckless, cocky, tried ideas without consulting those we worked with. Wormtail almost lost us our contact in Ghana. We were riding high and always completed our mission, and the boys got their tattoo. Until they didn’t.

“Wait,” Harry said, “before you continue. Does this have something to do with Riddle?” 

“Hermione is rubbing off on you,” Lily said, “Indeed. I’m sure you know from the stories what happened that night. Two teams went in, one team came out...Neville’s parents.Truly, Harry, I will never forgive myself.”

“But that wasn’t your fault!” Harry glanced around, thinking he heard footsteps approaching, but saw no one and pressed the phone back to his ear, “Plus, you got Riddle, and a ton of Parseltongue agents as well. The reports said—”

“What they needed to say,” his mother interrupted, speaking over a loud whirring sound in the background, “I was the one who killed Riddle, but that is not why this mission was a failure.” 

“Why, then?” 

“At the time, the Marauders were working with a team made up of Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, both Prewetts, and a man named Lebedev. You know this. Riddle found our home at Godric's Hollow. We were massively outnumbered, and Harry, they were coming for us...for  _ you. _ ” 

“Why me?” 

“You were his best chance to bring us out into the open. Not only do you come from a long line of WIZARD Agents, you are the most important thing in our lives. The one thing that could make us go off mission. Forget about having to track us down! He thought that if he got you, the Marauders would come to him, and he was right. If they had taken you, there would be no stopping us. I...I…” 

She stopped talking and Harry heard her take a shaky breath. 

“It’s alright, Mum,” he said. There was a small silence, and Harry heard someone speaking to his mother in soft tones. There was crackling, breathing, and in the next second, a deeper voice came over the phone. 

“Hello son.”

“Hi, Dad.” 

“Switched off to give your Mother a break,” he said, “this next part is not fun.” 

“I understand.” 

“Frankly, I’m not sure you do. We saw twenty people bent on death and destruction approaching and decided to set off the trap early. It was your mother and my idea, but the others on our team agreed to it quickly. Start our attack before they could even breach the front gate.” 

“That sounds like it would have worked.”

“If we were alone, it might have. But with other people involved, our plan was so unbelievably, undeniably  _ stupid,  _ my son. You were not yet out of harm’s way. The Prewetts fought tooth and nail to protect you until your mother could arrive. They sacrificed themselves so she could escape with you.”

“So in the reports,” Harry asked, “the ‘precious cargo’ was  _ me?”  _ Harry’s father gave an affirming grunt. 

“The Longbottoms were not in position, either, and as a result of our incompetence, were captured by a Parseltongue agent named Bellatrix Lestrange. By the time we located them and apprehended Lestrange...well, you know why Neville lives with his grandmother.” 

“And Agent Lebedev?” Harry asked, his thoughts back in the office with their plant-loving desk agent. 

“Gone. Just...gone.” 

Harry could only stand there with his mouth hanging open. It was so late on the compound that even the street lights were dimmed. Harry realized with a start that he could no longer hear the faint sounds of noise and laughter in the background. The other agents must have gone to bed. Curious, he looked back toward where Ron and Hermione were sitting. They were still there, but having idle conversation while Ron’s head rested on his hands. Hermione seemed to be swaying as tiredness took over. 

As he watched them, Harry couldn’t help but think about their recent missions, moments from each coming back in a blur. His team’s mistakes sounded too much like the things his parents described. He remembered Hermione and himself ignoring signs that their rendezvous point was compromised and going anyway, just to fight their way out. He remembered Ron’s near miss at the museum, their brush with an international terrorist, and the time he almost blew Hermione’s cover. He grimaced. He knew if they hadn't made up for it with individual skill, their team would be missing an agent today. 

“Are you still there?” 

Harry jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice. She was back on the phone, but the sounds on the other end were louder now and Harry sensed there was not much time left. 

“Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“How many times I’ve messed up...been reckless. I don’t want to feel the way you did, Mum. I mean, I already do, kind of. But there’s got to be a way I can keep everyone safe.”

“Sweetheart, I know you want to. But you’ve got to let go of the idea that you’re everyone’s protector. It’s not a bad thing to want to protect, but sometimes when we hold ourselves to that high a standard it causes us to do rash things...like acting without consulting your whole team.” The noises in the background were growing louder now, and he could hear Sirius, Remus, and Peter speaking over each other. 

“Before I go, Harry, and I  _ do _ have to go, I will tell you one last thing. We haven’t gotten a new tattoo in twenty three years, because we vowed never to get one again until we felt we executed a mission flawlessly. No shortcuts, no showing off, no mistakes.”

“Is that even possible?”

“It certainly gives us something to work for.”

“Reynard! I know you love your son but it’s time!” Remus’s voice in the background cut through the sounds, and his mother called back that she’d be right there. 

“Wait, before you go!”

“Harry, I really can’t—”

“Just...be careful, alright? Promise me.”

“I promise.” 

_ Click.  _

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there, listening to nothing on the other end of the phone. He perked up when he realized Hermione was walking to meet him, her hands outstretched and her expression soft. 

“Ron’s already inside with my laptop,” Hermione said as they reached each other, “I wanted to wait for you.”

“Thanks,” he replied. He dropped one of her hands and pulled gently on the other, walking them both toward the cabin. Her hand was warm against his, though he was concerned when he felt a small scrape near the base of her palm. Had she gotten that earlier? 

“Tell me about your call,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Is that an order?”

“Call it a strong suggestion.” 

Harry snorted, and looked over to find her already gazing up at him. He smiled reassuringly, then took in a breath. 

“I think I feel...nervous, he said. A slight pause in their walking told him he’d surprised Hermione with his openness. Emboldened, he continued.

“They won’t cancel their mission, despite the danger they’re facing.” 

“They’re always in danger, though.”

“I know, but they’re my parents, you know? But I won’t interfere, because truth be told I think that’ll do more harm than good.” They reached the stairs, taking them in slow, deliberate steps. 

“Thinking about what you said earlier and everything my Mum told me today...I’m going to try harder to figure out what I need to be for you. For this team,” he continued, “Mum trusts Dad, Sirius, Remus and Peter unconditionally. I think we can be like that too.” 

Hermione gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and leaned into his side. "That's what I always tell myself, that I need to relinquish a bit of control...but...it's hard." She stopped walking.

“Let’s make a deal!,” she continued, “Going forward we stop talking about being better and actually follow your Mum’s advice.” 

Harry arched an eyebrow. “I hope you know that means you’ll have to follow _ all _ Ron’s instructions when he’s running the mission. To the letter.”

Hermione shot him an annoyed glare. “I know exactly what it means. Why do you think it’s so hard?” she exclaimed as they resumed their walk. Harry stifled a laugh, leaning forward to open the door to their cabin. 

“So it’s agreed then,” he said, “we work as a team, a  _ real _ team, from now on. No more excuses, only results.”

“Agree,” Hermione replied with an affirming nod.

“What are we agreeing to?” Ron asked drowsily from his cot. 

“Hermione promises to listen to you when you’re in charge from now on.”

Ron immediately sat up, now fully awake. “You’re serious?”

“Yes,” Hermione grit out. 

Ron let out a whoop of triumph at the news, utterly unfazed by the pillow hitting his face moments later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooow! Has it really been three whole-ass months!? I'm not late, I SWEAR! 
> 
> Full disclosure y'all. I'm a teacher, and teaching among our current world situation is hard. Finding any free time for myself has been ridiculous, and when I do find it, I deflate into a little ball of mush on my beanbag chair. My muse has been nearly nonexistent, but it's back! 
> 
> If you are still with me after all this time, I really appreciate it. I will try my absolute damndest to be on schedule going forward, and am already working on chapter 5! 
> 
> Oh! And thank you again to my absolutely wonderful, patient, hilarious beta PetrificusSomewhwatus.


	5. Chapter 5

"Impressive, Agent Potter! This was your best run yet." A rather short woman hopped down from her perch on a metal platform, reaching out to shake Harry's hand.

"Thanks, Madam Hooch," he replied. Harry reached out to return the friendly shake, but was instead met with an iron grip that matched the older woman's piercing golden eyes. 

"Please, Potter, call me Hooch," she said, "Seriously. You know I'm not fond of formality outside of the academy." 

"But literally everyone here was your student," Harry said, then saw her expression harden and switched up his thoughts, "Er, why  _ are  _ you here?."

“I am on loan to Hogsmeade for today only,” she said, “They needed someone competent to run the obstacle course.”

“Ah, so that's why I had to make that extra long jump!" He said, grinning, "I almost didn't make that, you know." 

Madam Hooch gave a half smile in reply, then nodded toward the exit. 

"You have people waiting for you," she said. Harry could see Hermione and Ron fighting to get a view through the tiny pane in the door. They seemed to have settled on one eye each, though he imagined much of his progress was out of their view. Harry waved and walked forward, reaching for the handle just as a loud beep reverberated in the chamber. 

"I'll be here for a while if you want to try tomorrow's simulation!" said Hooch as he walked through the door. She was already climbing back up onto her platform, and he could hear someone else entering the course chamber from the other end. 

"So you can make me dangle from cables fifty feet in the air?" He asked. 

"Quite possibly, once I figure out if this particular room is equipped. I remember you being rather good at the more acrobatic requirements, Potter." 

Harry raised his eyebrows. He remembered something about scaling a wall at Hogwarts Academy when he was in his first year there. Malfoy had stolen one of Neville's old gadgets and somehow gotten it three stories up near the training fields. Harry, thinking nothing of it at the time, scaled the outer walls of the building and retrieved the thing just in time for Madam Hooch to arrive. 

This skill had proved useful the few times he’d climbed the outer walls of the girl’s dormitory...for his and Hermione’s late-night study sessions. 

As Harry waved and the lock clanked shut behind him, Hermione and Ron pulled him into the empty hallway with looks of shock on their faces. Hermione threw her arms around him, but then drew back with her nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“How did you get so sweaty in such a short amount of time?” she asked. Harry leaned over.

“As I recall, I didn’t have time to shower in between exercises today,” he said. Hermione’ eyes widened and she looked away, cheeks pink. 

" _ Anyway _ ," Ron interrupted with a roll of his eyes, "Four minutes. You finished the course in four bloody minutes!" He had his hands on both of Harry's shoulders and shook him slightly with each word, "That's thirty seconds better than the last time you were here, and look!" He pointed to the buzzing screen on the wall. There were names there, lit up in a neon grid, matched with a course time for the day. As they watched, all the names shifted down one spot and Harry's came flickering into view at the top. 

"You're the best here today by quite a margin," Hermione said.

"I'm still nowhere near the record," Harry said, blushing a little as Hermione simply beamed at him. 

"So? You still did it, and with Hooch's course as well!" Ron clapped him on the back as they left the building and made their way to the canteen, "I didn't even get on the list today. Old bat." 

"Ronald..." Hermione flashed him a look as she twirled her wand in her hand. 

"What? You know her and those terrifying eyes of hers," Ron said, massaging a small bruise on his chin, “They say she’s more machine now, than woman — twisted and evil. No human could spot a human gripping their vehicle incorrectly from eight meters away."

"You're just bitter because she gave you detention. As a fully grown adult, mind." Hermione shot back. Ron looked to Harry for help, but he shrugged instead.

“She’s not wrong.”

“I can’t win with you two!” Ron said, though he was smiling a bit as he led them both out the building and in the direction of the canteen. 

The jarring events from the previous evening, while they did result in an increase of security around Hogsmeade Facility, had no effect on the recreational area. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to dodge footballs and weave their way between Agents blowing off steam to reach the cafeteria doors.   
  
“Ron, go find us a table,” Hermione said as they pushed their way inside, “We’ll get trays.” 

“Why do I have to go?”   
  
“Because your grumpy look will scare off anyone that may have stolen our seats.” 

“I don’t look grumpy!”   
  
Hermione looked at Harry, then back at Ron, who looked, as Hermione observed, rather cross. Whether this was a remnant of their previous conversation or the simple fact that he had to wait an extra ten minutes to sample the food, Harry didn’t know.   
  
“Come _on_ , Ron,” Hermione pushed, “We don’t have all day.” 

“Alright, alright! I’m going.” He turned and walked off, disappearing into the crowd of Agents clamoring to get in line. 

“Damn, Mr. Kreacher is serving today,” Harry said as they inched forward. He craned his neck, eyeing the sign which read L. Kreacher in bold print. When Hermione didn’t respond, Harry looked over at her to find she now had a face to match Ron’s. 

“What?”

“You should be nicer to him,” she said flatly, “He’s working just as hard as Mr. Dobbs and Ms. Winkles. Maybe harder.”

“Yeah, because he’s too busy being an old, elitist piece of—”

“Harry!”   
  
“Again, what?” he shot back. They were nearing the front of the line, and he was both surprised and relieved to see it was Mr. Dobbs behind the counter. The man was rather short, thin, and frail, though made up for it with seemingly never ending energy as he greeted each agent by name. They could hear his squeaky voice getting louder as they neared the front of the line. 

“I don’t particularly like how Mr. Kreacher talks to you,” Harry said, “You know that.”   
  
“I don’t like it either,” Hermione said, discreetly grabbing Harry’s hand and squeezing it, “But I know I’m a competent agent, despite having no parental ties to the organization. Besides! Dentistry is a perfectly respectable occupation...even if it’s not the one for me. Still, you know why he’s here, Harry. He’s almost as old as the facility itself. Who would hire someone at his age?”

“He could retire…”   
  
“Like anyone working for W.I.Z.A.R.D retires. Will _you_?” she didn’t wait for him to answer before continuing, “Just be nice for me, alright? I thought I’d be rid of this when Ron left to get the table.”   
  
“Aha! So that’s why you sent him away.”

“Absolutely! I don’t want to hear any of his ridiculous comments about ‘the help’. It’s like he’s forgotten about struggling to get by.” 

“Mister-Agent Potter!” Dobbs nearly dropped the tray he was holding and wiped his hands on his peach patterned apron. Ms. Winkles put a hand on his shoulder to try and stop him, but Dobbs wriggled out of her reach. He grabbed a second tray and balanced it on his arm, and then a third in his hand before walking out to greet them. 

“Agent Potter, and with Agent Granger! I’m so happy to see you both,” he said, dipping his head in reverence. Someone behind them coughed, and Harry had the sudden urge to sink into the floor. Mr. Dobbs, however, paid them no mind.

“I was wondering when you’d come back to Hogsmeade!” he said, motioning so all three of them moved out of the way of the line. Ms. Winkles began handing out trays to the next agents, a tight-lipped look on her face. 

“It’s wonderful to see you, Mr. Dobbs,” Hermione said with a soft smile, “Let us help you with those.” She and Harry simultaneously reached for the trays, but Dobbs shook his head. 

“No, no. I’m alright, Agent Granger.  _ Really.  _ I’d rather help you find Agent Weasley...not that he’s hard to find.” Harry laughed at this, immediately noticing Ron’s bright red hair across the room. 

Hermione looked unconvinced, but with a look from Harry and a ‘ _ Trust me, he’d be more upset if you didn’t let him help’  _ whispered in her ear, she relented. Instead, they walked through the tables, watching Dobbs expertly evade the throngs of people moving about. He was babbling on in his shrill little voice, turning heads and attracting more scowls than Harry cared to see. 

“And it’s wonderful to see you as well. You haven’t been here in  _ ages _ ,” he babbled on, “It’s an absolute joy to be in the presence of the ones who got me this job.” 

“Ah, I’m sure it hasn’t been that long, Dobbs,” Harry said, noting Agent McLaggen smirking at them from a table nearby.  
  
“But it has! Almost eight months, in fact. You must have such a skillful team, given that W.I.Z.A.R.D. recommends agents come at least once every quarter, provided they are not on a mission.” 

Mr. Dobbs was too busy navigating the tables to notice the silent look Harry and Hermione shared. After a moment, Hermione opened her mouth, but before she could speak, they were interrupted by a resurgence of excited greetings.

Ron sat at a table beneath one of the building’s many televisions, tapping his fingers on the table and periodically looking at his phone. He looked up as Mr. Dobbs called his name, and after returning the greeting shot a questioning glance at Harry and Hermione. 

“I can’t stay,” Mr. Dobbs said as he slid all three trays on the table, “You know Ms. Winkles, work is what she lives for.” He began to back away, giving the group a little nod and wave as he did.   
  
“That’s alright,” Harry said. But before he could walk away, Harry had a thought and jumped up from the table.

“Hey, Dobbs?” he asked, causing the shorter man to stop and turn round again, “Where is Mr. Kreacher today? The sign said…” 

“Ah! Yes, that. ” Mr. Dobbs’ entire body seemed to tense at the question, and he pulled at the bottom of his apron, “It’s very nice of you to ask after him but, well, I’m not sure if I should say.” Dobbs looked over toward the serving counter, where Ms. Winkles was handing out trays almost faster than the agents could line up. She had one of her large, rather watery eyes trained on Dobbs, who in turn began pulling even harder on his apron. Harry opened his mouth, about to push more, but Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

“There’s no need to tell us if you need to get back to work, Mr. Dobbs,” she said, still looking at Harry, “We wouldn’t want to cause you any more trouble. Would we?” This time she elbowed Ron, who had a forkful of mashed potatoes on the way to his mouth.

“Ouch! What?” he said, then realized, “Ah, yeah. Don’t worry about it.” Dobbs looked almost relieved, giving another tilt of his head before scurrying back to work. Harry watched him until he was back at the counter, the tension still apparent in the man’s shuffling walk. Dobbs seemed to try and avoid glancing over his shoulder, and nearly bumped into a couple of Agents trying to clear their trays. 

When Mr. Dobbs finally disappeared behind the counter, Harry sat, pulling one of the trays toward him and spearing some green beans with his fork.  _ Something must be wrong.  _

  
“You’re doing it again,” said Hermione, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

“Doing what?”

“Getting lost in your thoughts.”

“Am I?” He took a deep breath in, putting some green beans into his mouth and chewing. Hermione took his silence as an opportunity to speak.

“While I do think it was strange Mr. Kreacher wasn’t here today, it wasn’t something to be concerned about,  _ yet,” _ she said, “And certainly not something to think about at length until we have more information.” 

“Yeah, but I still want to know what happened,” Ron cut in. His tray was entirely empty, save a bit of corned beef on the very edge, “He was acting a little off, wasn’t he? You should have let Harry ask, Hermione.”

“No,” she replied flatly, “He’s right in the middle of the lunch rush. Let him have a moment! Plus, you saw how nervous it made him.” Harry swallowed, trying to ignore both the somewhat-bland taste of the beans and the dull roar of the canteen. 

“You’re probably right,” Harry replied, “I’m still on edge from last night, I think. Though you have to admit it was strange. The last time I saw him act like that was when he still worked at that bar. Y’know, Borgin and Burkes?” Hermione bit her lip, frowning and placing her fork down as the TV above them switched channels. A woman appeared on the screen, leaning forward on the news room desk in front of her. 

Harry recalled the dank little establishment just down the street from the Leaky Cauldron. He wasn’t supposed to have wandered in there, let alone by himself. But something he couldn't quite explain drove his footsteps that day, and landed him right in the middle of a conflict which eventually got Mr. Dobbs hired - protected - by W.I.Z.A.R.D.   
  
As far as Harry knew the bar was still in business...though who was running it, he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t gone in since then. Either way, Dobbs was as on edge that night as he was today. Harry watched him come out of the back carting more trays, but he wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going and nearly tripped on Ms. Winkle’s foot. 

“Maybe we could talk to him after his shift ends tonight,” Hermione said. Harry looked over to see she was watching Dobbs as well, full brows furrowed with concern, “Wait til the very end of dinner...say we’re getting some midnight snacks or something? There’s no rule against him staying around for a few extra minutes...” Harry relaxed a bit at her suggestion, then smiled. 

“Yeah, and perhaps Ron could get some extra food out of him. I’m  _ kidding _ ,” Harry put his hands up as Hermione’s glare returned. Ron laughed.

“Stop talking, Harry. You’ll anger your other half,” he teased. He made to get up, winking at Hermione’s deepening frown, but promptly bumped his head on the television monitor. 

“Karma,” Hermione said. Ron grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. The noise had been loud enough to draw attention, though most of the agents seemed to be watching the television as opposed to paying attention to Ron. Silence fell in a radius around the table just as Harry’s eyes went to the screen. 

_“Mysterious explosion at 5:00 this morning puts all of East London on alert,”_ said the reporter, _“Officials say that a small area has been closed off until further notice as an investigation is underway, but assure commuters their daily routine shouldn’t be interrupted. With more details we have Emily, live on the scene.”_ A dark haired girl with even darker eyes appeared, microphone clutched in both hands as she looked back and forth. Her eyes seemed a little glazed, as if she couldn’t quite focus on the camera in front of her.   
  
_“Oh! Er, right. Thanks Liz. Um, A little bar off the beaten path, frequented mostly by adults after hours...”_ Harry felt Hermione grip his arm, nails dug into his skin. He could tell out the corner of his eye that Ron had flashed him a momentary glance before turning back to the screen.

Behind the civilian reporter was an alleyway, where one could almost see the remnants of smoke dissipating right where the alley met the street. Papers blew about on the pavement, and Harry was sure he could see a few people congregating just out of sight. The building itself, however, looked barely worse for wear. 

_ “As you can see, an explosion caused quite a bit of unrest in the area. There were no injuries, but the bar, Borgin and Burkes, sustained damage from a blast that came from below, where a cellar-like room was discovered. An ongoing investigation is taking place as we speak, and authorities say...”  _ she faded out, the glazed expression back on her face as a small flash like a camera flickered and was gone. 

_ “I’ve just received an update,” _ she said suddenly, shaking her head and standing up a little straighter, “ _ The explosion was caused by an old gas main. Other establishments in the area will be asked to check their equipment as soon as possible.”  _

_ “Thank you Emily.”  _ The woman in the newsroom was back on the screen, flashing a plastic smile,  _ “And now, popular fantasy novel author makes concerning remarks, angering fans across…” _

There was a brief period of quiet, most of the canteen seemed to have stopped to watch the news report. Harry turned around and saw Ron’s mouth fall open.

  
“Bloody Hell,” he said. With this assessment, the room sprang to life again. Every table had people talking and looking back up at the television, wondering if anything more would be said. They were all wondering the same thing: Did the explosion have anything to do with W.I.Z.A.R.D.? 

Harry already knew. It was too much of a coincidence.

“Am I allowed to be worried now?” he asked Hermione.

“Yes,” she said, “But we  _ still need more information _ .” 

“Excuse me, Agent Potter!” If you’re done eating…I need a few moments of your time.” Harry turned, surprised as Mr. Dobbs appeared beside Ron. He didn’t look as nervous anymore, but the uneasiness still seemed to weigh him down. 

“What’s going on?” Ron asked, “Ms. Winkles giving you a hard time?” 

“No, it’s not that. It-It’s about Mr. Kreacher…” Dobbs leaned on the table and beckoned with a small, bony hand. 

“I can’t be completely sure, but I think he’s been doing something that threatens W.I.Z.A.R.D. from the  _ inside, _ ” he whispered as they leaned in, “He keeps disappearing at odd hours. Yesterday, I saw him with—” 

“Potter! Granger! Weasley!” Everyone, including Mr. Dobbs, looked around to find Agent Diggory with his arms across his chest. A few agents (of varying genders) paused their conversation to look at him, but the clean-cut man paid them no mind. 

“I need to speak to you in your cabin,” he said, nodding toward the door. 

“Right now?” Ron asked.

“Yes, now.” Harry and Ron looked at each other. Ron’s expression said he thought they were in trouble. Harry looked around for Mr. Dobbs, but he shook his head and instead picked up their empty trays and walked away, looking regretfully over his shoulder as he did. 

“Can I meet you there?” Harry asked as he watched Dobbs walk away. 

“No,” said Diggory, “We don’t have time.” The look he gave Harry told him this wasn’t something to be argued, and Harry determined with a pang of regret he’d have to talk to Dobbs another time. 

They left the building, crossed the property and made it through the courtyard with barely a word between the four of them, save Diggory greeting a few curious staff members. He spoke once about doing a quick sweep of the cabins and finding something concerning in theirs, but Harry knew that to be untrue. 

As if to prove his point, Diggory breathed a sigh of relief the moment they closed the cabin doors behind them. 

“Good, I was worried someone would be following us, or need me for something right away,” Diggory said, “I couldn’t afford not to talk to you, but I have no reason to put off my nightly duties.” 

“This is about the explosion isn’t it?” said Ron. Diggory put his hand up to stop him, then took a step back and looked at no one in particular. 

“Activate secure code, _Protego_ ,” he said into the room. A disembodied voice replied. 

“Access Code Required. State Access Code.” 

“02051998.”   
  
“Permission granted to Senior Agent Diggory,” said the voice, “Initiating Protego.” 

The cabin sprung to life. There was a click as the front and back doors locked.Thick shades descended from the tops of the windows and snapped into place. 

“Program Initiated. Signal Jammer, Initiated. Protego Active for a period of 15 minutes.” 

“Alright, I think we’re good,” Diggory said. He ran a hand through his hair and approached the trio, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket. 

“I assume you saw the news report?” he said. He unfolded the paper and spread it out on one of the cabin’s tables. 

“We did,” said Ron, “Something tells me that cute reporter didn’t simply forget what she was saying on air.”

“No she did not,” Diggory said, “Read this.” He tapped the paper, and Hermione began to silently read it. Harry watched her scan the page, her eyes growing wide. Then that wide-eyed gaze was suddenly upon him. 

“What?” he asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“The...The Marauders,” Hermione said quietly, “They’re gone. They’ve been…” Harry crossed the room in two steps and took the letter from Hermioen’s outstretched hand. It was there, plain as day, and he read it aloud. 

_ [STATUS: CLASSIFIED] _

_ [STATUS: PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATION] _

_ This document serves as an update to provide significant facts relating to the ongoing investigation of establishment Borgin and Burkes, owned by suspected Parseltongue Affiliate brothers Adder Borgin and Caractacus Burke. Agents James Potter, Lily Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew were investigating the establishment in relation to recent Parseltongue activity and acquiring of the [REDACTED]. It is intended to raise concern about the whereabouts of the agents mentioned after an explosion on… _

The rest of the paper was blanked out, and the top was ripped. 

“Do you have any more information?” Harry said, turning to Diggory. He shook his head. 

“That’s all I was allowed to see, and even then I’m not sure I _was_ allowed to see it. McGonagall gave it to me in utmost confidence and told me not to communicate with anyone but you three. Speaking of…” Diggory took the letter from Harry, took his Wand from his pocket, and touched the tip to the paper. In a near instant and with a millisecond of flame _ , _ the paper was gone. 

“According to the report,” Diggory continued, “their mission was in the same place the explosion occurred today. Nothing suggests that they are dead, but they _ are  _ missing. As such, Director McGonagall wants you to meet her tomorrow on the London Eye to discuss next steps.” 

“Wait, why aren’t we being debriefed in her office?” asked Hermione. Diggory suddenly looked very uncomfortable, seeming to shrink before Hermione’s stare. 

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Diggory said, “For all we know, the Marauders are in hiding. But I do know McGonagall fears there may be something wrong  _ inside  _ W.I.Z.A.R.D. That’s why I, well.” He made a vague gesture toward the locked-down cabin. 

“So we'll leave early tomorrow morning and make the drive home, drop off our things, and get to the river whenever we’re supposed to be there.” 

“Actually, it’s only Harry and Hermione that will be going,” said Diggory. 

“You’re joking.” 

“I’m not. She feels that all three of you would be too conspicuous.”

“But we do everything together!”   
  
“Not everything. According to the Director, Hermione and Harry should act like a couple on a date, and afterward can fill you in at a secure, non-W.I.Z.A.R.D. location. I trust that won’t be too difficult for you?” Diggory turned to Harry and Hermione, who shook their heads. Ron took quite a bit longer to respond, brow furrowed and ears a little pink. But he managed a terse nod, and Diggory looked at his watch. 

“Our time’s about up, and I need to be going. Harry, Hermione, McGonagall said precisely 1400 hours on a capsule. It doesn’t matter what you wear. She will find you .” 

“1400 Hours,” Hermione echoed. 

“Protego lifted,” said the disembodied voice, and the cabin returned to its normal state. 

Agent Diggory bid them a hasty goodbye and left the cabin as casually as he’d walked in, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron staring after him.

“Harry,” said Hermione. She was watching him, he knew, and he knew she was hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t spring up and demand to see McGonagall immediately, or to start investigating himself. But he didn’t. Instead, he forced himself to turn around and sit on the foot of his bed. 

“McGonagall wouldn’t do this without reason,” he said, “I have to believe the wait is the best thing for us to do here.” 

“Right…” Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him, Ron lightly punching his shoulder, “As our brilliant Hermione said earlier, we don’t have all the information. For all we know, we could be asked to help them on their mission. They could be deep undercover, after all.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

“Now, you are going to let me hold you and we're going to breathe,” said Hermione. 

“And let me sit here like I’m a third wheel.”

“You’re OUR third wheel, Ron.”

“A badge I wear with pride!” Ron thumped his chest and patted Harry on the shoulder, earning a small chuckle from the black-haired boy, then took his phone out as Hermione pulled Harry into a crushing hug. He held her tight and buried his head in her neck, not moving until his heart stopped its painful beating. 

  
____________________________________________________________________________

The breeze along the river ruffled Harry’s hair and he took a slow, long breath in. He was far from wearing his cargo shorts and shirt, instead clad in everyday jeans, acid-washed blue top and dark blue jumper. Hermione was dressed similarly, in jeans and a pink sweater that had only the tiniest bits of cat hair stuck to the front. They took their time, weaving between joggers and parents tugging their whining children along. One particular child was so shrill even the roar from the nearby roads couldn’t distract him from their screaming. 

“Goodness,” Hermione said, linking arms, “she sounds just like you when you were a baby.”

“I did not sound like that!” Harry said, “I was a child of perfectly normal volume.” 

“I have a copy of an old home video that says otherwise, if the name ‘Harry drops the Treacle’ rings any bells.” Hermione pushed some of her bushy brown curls out of her face, smiling up at him as they walked along. 

“I would ask where you got it from, but we need to be on alert,” he said, “In fact, we probably should be talking about--”

“Whatever we want,” Hermione interjected, “ _ She  _ said we were allowed to act like a couple this time. And anyway, we have no need to be there until...remind me of the time again?” 

“1400 hours,” he said, ““We’re to get on one of the capsules, ready with earpieces in. But you knew that.”

“Of course I did! I just wanted to remind you that you know what you’re doing.” Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed, then wrapped one of her arms around his waist and began to talk a little faster. Unable to resist the slight bounce in her step, Harry followed suit. 

“Now you can’t wander off.” Harry kissed the top of her head. 

“I’d never want to.” He let his head stay resting on the top of hers, his arm gripping her shoulder tight as they took slow steps toward their destination. If they weren’t here for such worrying reasons, he’d enjoy the afternoon sun just barely warming his face between bouts of cloudy sky. 

It would be alright. They had a plan. Find out what happened and how they could help. Then they’d do whatever they could to get The Marauders back. If he just believed that…

“Joggers up ahead,” Hermione said. A small group of them, all rather tall but boasting all manner of clothing and body types, rapidly approached on Harry’s left. As they watched, the group of runners navigated around a small closed off section, revealing a lone straggler trying his best to keep up in the back. While most of the group were breathing steadily with a thin sheen of perspiration on their faces, this one was panting like a dog and wobbling every other step.

“Either he’s with the wrong group,” Harry said quietly, “Or…” He stopped talking as the man looked up. It was brief, barely a second, and he could have been looking to see where he was going, but before Harry had full time to process the group of runners was upon them. One, two, four, six, eight...they all breezed by. Harry watched them go past, but didn’t turn around again in time to stop the straggling man from slamming right into him. 

“Oof! Sorry, sorry sir!” Harry let go of Hermione, using one arm to steady himself and the other to stop the man hitting the pavement. 

“Do you need to sit down?” Hermione asked, placing a hand on his back. 

“No, no I’m alright, just need to catch my breath,” he said, scratching behind his ear, then taking Harry’s hand in his own. He shook it, pulling Harry closer. 

“Besides,” he continued, “You’ll be late.” Harry’s eyes widened as he felt something press his palm. He pulled his hand away, closing his fist around what felt like small teardrop shapes and slipping his hand into his pocket. 

“If you’re sure you’re alright…” Harry said. The man nodded and stretched, giving them a wave and waddling off to follow the running group. Hermione and Harry watched his retreating back for a few moments, but Harry glanced at his watch and grabbed Hermione’s hand. 

“Let’s speed up,” he said, “We  _ are _ going to be late.” 

Not twenty minutes later they were nearing the front of the queue, engaged in idle chatter about their friends. Whenever the subject drifted too close to work, one of them would redirect to talk about the scenery, the crowds, the Eye itself...Hermione inundated him with facts about the Eye she’d read, and four other big wheels located across the globe. 

“I especially want to ride the Big O,” Hermione said.” Harry raised his eyebrows so high he was sure they’d disappeared into his hairline. 

“ _ Do  _ you now?”

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Hermione said, though Harry saw her fighting not to laugh, “It’s an attraction in Tokyo. It doesn’t have a center like ours does...so there’s a roller coaster going right through it.” She made a kind of whooshing motion with her hand that Harry found adorable.   
  
Harry nodded in understanding as he watched a group of people board one of the capsules. 

“Maybe I should call Ron,” Harry said as the employees closed and secured the car, half-heartedly waving to the ascending tourists, “See if he’s done being mad yet.” 

“I don’t think we have time for that,” Hermione replied, “We’re almost at the front.” Harry shrugged. 

“Worth a try.” Of course, he knew Ron would have to wait. Instead, he fished in his pocket to find the little teardrop-like shapes still safely at the bottom. He took both out, handing one to Hermione. 

“Hold that for me love, will you?” She took it and dropped it into her purse, but not before she pressed a small button on the side. Harry, on the other hand, fit the item snug into his ear while pressing a few buttons on his phone. He grazed his thumb over the device, then pressed to activate. 

“It’s about time!” McGonagall’s sharp voice shot through the earpiece and made Harry wince, “Fifteen minutes. That’s how long I waited for you to switch these on.  _ Don’t talk _ yet, and when you do, speak at a level slightly quieter than average. The earpieces will pick you up and filter surrounding noise.” 

“Is Ron still mad?” Hermione said beside him. 

“That’s an understatement, ” Harry replied, then added pointedly, “Said he’d prefer me to talk more quietly.” Hermione nodded and shuffled forward in line. 

“Wait until you’re off the platform,” said McGonagall, “I do believe you’re up next.” 

Harry knew better than to look around and try to find the Director, though he knew she had to be nearby from the faint sounds coming from her earpiece. It was the same sound he heard as the metal gates opened and an attendant directed them to the slow-moving capsule, along with a group of American tourists and a jumble of other people speaking a variety of languages. Harry and Hermione found a place along the shorter side of the glass, hands clasped tightly together, and watched as the murky water grew further and further away. 

“Keep your eyes to the window as you talk,” McGonagall said in his ear, “Ms. Granger mentioned you’ve never been on the Eye, so you’ll be able to act the part of tourist. However, I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

“Only part of it,” Hermione said. Harry looked over to find her hand returning to her side. Apparently she'd managed to insert her own earpiece. 

“My reason for bringing you out here is the same reason I did not immediately notify you of the explosion,” McGonagall continued, “so as not to alert anyone at headquarters that we are meeting. As far as you and I are concerned, this meeting did not happen, and you will be coming to an official briefing tomorrow. Do you understand? ”

“I understand,” said Hermione. Harry looked at her and nodded, feigning an excited point toward a distant building. 

“We don’t have any time to waste, so I’ll make this brief. Potter, Granger, you already know that The Marauders are missing and have been since the explosion yesterday. We cannot contact them through any of the normal channels nor have they checked in at any extraction points. As a result, you and Mr. Weasley have been reinstated to the field.” 

Harry waited for more, but was only met with distant crackling and the sound of laughter. It was a few minutes before McGonagall continued, which gave Harry and Hermione time to watch the sun getting progressively lower in the sky, the boats moving along the river, the tiny people weaving in and out of each other on the walkways.   
  
He felt the random urge to kiss Hermione, like touching her would relieve some of his racing thoughts. So he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on Hermione’s cheek, causing her to blush. The American tourists looked over, and one of them mouthed ‘awwww’. 

“Sorry,” he said as Hermione gave him a not-unfriendly, questioning look, “I had an urge. Plus, we’re supposed to be acting like a couple.”

“It is far more than an act, Potter,” McGonagall’s voice was back and it was Harry’s turn to blush. He could picture her thin features and large eyes staring amusedly over the tops of her glasses. McGonagall, however, was unphased and switched back to business. 

“You already know we were able to...influence the civilian investigation and therefore did some of our own. What we found there...and this is the part you aren’t going to like, Harry, was evidence that pointed to a betrayal. Betrayal of the Marauders from someone within their ranks.” 

It was not Harry, but Hermione that reacted to McGonagall’s statement. Her hand gripped Harry’s hard, almost painfully. He, on the other hand, felt uncomfortably light.

“Who…?” asked Hermione, “Who did it point to?” 

“Was there any evidence at all?” Harry cut in, “Perhaps it’s still unclear.”

“Unfortunately, it was especially clear,” came the reply. “All evidence by those who checked and rechecked pointed to Mr. Sirius Black.” 

Harry’s floating feeling came crashing down. There was no right answer here. McGonagall could have said any of their names and he would have been just as distraught. But Sirius? 

A memory came to him, of a time when Sirius took Harry for the weekend while his parents were “away on a business trip.” It was several years before he’d learned the nature of their business. While throwing a ball for his dog to catch, Harry had asked, in true child-like fashion, why Sirius had been named his godfather. Thinking back, this was a potentially rude question, but Sirius had just laughed. 

_ “Well, James is like my brother,” he had said, “And Lily is like my...well, I can’t say like my sister. Your mum is too smoking hot for me to ever think of her as a sister. Anyway...what I’m saying is your parents are my family. One day you’ll learn about why, but I’d do anything for them, and you! Lay down my life if I had to.” _

_ “Kinda like protecting them?” Harry had asked.  _

_ “Yes, exactly like that.”  _

“There’s no fucking way,” Harry said out loud. Sirius would never. He could never. Betraying his parents like that, and Remus and Peter...he would rather die. 

“Harry!” Hermione whispered, “Think of who you’re talking to!”  
  
“Sorry,” he said through gritted teeth, “What I mean is that I will do anything within my power to convince you, and WI.Z.A.R.D., that you’ve got the wrong man.”

“Good.”

“What?”

“Good, Potter,” McGonagall said, “Because what you are about to do is not authorized. If you are caught, I cannot defend you. I don’t believe that Sirius has betrayed us by any stretch of the imagination.”

“But you believe someone has betrayed W.I.Z.A.R.D.,” Hermione chimed in, “Someone on the inside. And our mission—”

“Should you choose to accept it,” said McGonagall.

“Is to find out who.” 

“Precisely, Ms. Granger. Continue your work as usual, and please, I  _ beg _ of you, do not go off on your own just yet. If we move too hastily we risk the safety of your family, yourselves, and quite frankly, our whole organization.You must _ trust _ me.” Harry thought back to their conversation outside the cabin and, with a look at Hermione’s equally determined face, nodded.

“I accept.”

“I accept,” Hermione echoed. 

“Good. Enjoy the rest of your ride.”

_ *beep*  _

The silence on the other end told Harry and Hermione that she’d hung up. It was no louder on their end, as neither seemed to want to talk. Talking would set things in motion. Talking made this real. Talking meant it was time to think about their next move. 

Instead, Harry looked out over the river and pulled Hermione close, not caring if McGonagall could still see them...wherever she was, not even particularly caring about the view. 

Because he knew. This time...this time they’d be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! It's spy shit time! 
> 
> Cookie for anyone who can find the references in this chapter. 
> 
> Petri is the Golden God


End file.
